


Beg the Liquid Red

by eurydice72



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s05e20 The Girl In Question, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 21:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 79,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6025986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice72/pseuds/eurydice72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night out to try and forget Angel's meddling in her life leads Buffy down a different path than the one she had planned. Old faces are like new again, and what's new is most definitely old. Begins at the beginning of "The Girl in Question" and then goes AU from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It _is_ Buffy/Spike, but because of the canon start, there are hints of Buffy/The Immortal.

Buffy’s heels clicked against the tiled walk as she bounced up to the front door of the villa. The sun was getting low on the horizon, but frankly, it couldn’t come soon enough for her. It had been a hell of a day, and now all she wanted was a night of dancing and an attentive boyfriend to forget the badness. And it would all start with a knock on Paolo’s door.

Piercing black eyes stared back at Buffy in surprise from the other side of the threshold. “You are…early, signorina,” the elderly woman said, her hand still on the doorknob.

Buffy smiled. “And thus I continue spreading the mystery that is me,” she replied brightly. She peered over Donatella’s shoulder, into the sparkling grand foyer behind her. “Paolo did tell you I was supposed to meet him here, right?”

“Si, si.” Mention of the Immortal had his housekeeper bustling out of the open doorway, pulling it ajar even further to allow Buffy room to enter without hindrance. The chill of the house made the skin bared by her halter prickle with goosebumps, her hands automatically coming up to her arms to rub them warm again. This was why they spent so much time at her crappy apartment, she thought as Donatella led her to the front room. Buffy could never get over how cold Paolo kept his house.

Donatella didn’t follow her into the plush lounge, lingering in the doorway with her hand on the door. The woman had a serious problem letting go of knobs, Buffy thought with amusement, like she needed to be ready to close a door at a moment’s notice. She kept her comments to herself, though, contenting to curl up in the corner of the white couch.

“You will wait here,” the housekeeper said. “The Immortal…he has not returned yet.”

With a small frown, Buffy glanced at the ornate clock on the mantle. “I’m not _that_ early.”

“Early enough,” came the reply, and the whisper of the door closing finished that particular discussion.

Alone at last, Buffy sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the soft cushions of the couch. When she had called earlier that day, furious with Angel for having the audacity to have one of his lackeys follow her around, Paolo had been his usual, easy-going self, suggesting a night out on the town with dancing and lots of alcohol to forget her California troubles. Buffy had jumped at the chance. She didn’t want to think about exes going bad, and then good, and then bad, and then good, and then bad yet again.

Angel was his own day of his unlife. He switched personalities almost as much as Marlena. Buffy was beginning to get a little tired of it all.

Deep down, though, it hurt a little to think that he didn’t trust her. Was she sending Slayers out to check he wasn’t trying to destroy the world with memos and Armani? No. She was letting him do his thing, even if it was at the head of Evil Incorporated. The least she expected was the same courtesy.

Dwelling on the issues with Angel brought back the dull throb behind Buffy’s eyes, and she unfolded from her position on the couch to begin wandering around the room for distraction. Think of dancing, she told herself as she skimmed slim fingers along the expensive figurines on display. Think of muscular Italian arms. Think of accented whispers in the middle of the night that make the past disappear.

The last made her pause, eyes suddenly seeing nothing as the other implication of a husky accent came through loud and clear in Spike Surround Sound.

_“I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a hell of a woman…”_

Not for the first time, Buffy answered with her own silent pledge.

_And you were a hell of a vamp, Spike. I miss you._

The crystal chiming of the clock on the mantle made her jump, startling Buffy from the memories she tried so hard to keep at bay these days. Officially, she wasn’t early any more, but still there was no sign of the usually punctual Paolo, and her eyes strayed to the closed door as if he would come striding boldly through it at any minute.

He didn’t. The chiming died away with Buffy alone in the room.

She walked to the door, listening for sounds of movement on the other side. For as much staff as Paolo had, his manor was always eerily quiet, people moving around as if on clouds. The only noises that could be counted on were the incessant chimes of clocks throughout the house, striking on the half hour, the full hour, the quarter hour, whatever hour that particular instrument had been tuned to. Every room had one. Well, she thought every room had one. She hadn’t actually seen the entire house, but everything she had seen came complete with its very own clock.

She had long ago stopped thinking it ironic that someone called The Immortal would be obsessed with time.

Pulling the door open, Buffy peered into the hall, venturing out of the front room when she realized she was alone. She found it hard to believe that Paolo was running late. Odds were good that he was merely upstairs, getting ready for their date, in which case she could surprise him by slipping in and helping. That way led much touching goodness and if they didn’t actually make it to the club for dancing, Buffy didn’t think she would really have a problem with that.

Except Paolo wasn’t in his bedroom, either.

Standing at the foot of his king-sized bed, Buffy’s fingers curved around the wooden post while she wondered what to do next. Any other man and she wouldn’t be worried, but Paolo’s compulsive need to be on time for everything was not something to be dismissed. If she knew what his business had been that afternoon, she could go out and make sure he was all right. But he hadn’t divulged any details when they’d spoken, and she was pretty sure that if she asked Donatella, the housekeeper would merely scold her in her broken English and herd her back to the front room to wait.

Buffy glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Five more minutes. She’d give him five more minutes and then try him on his cell. Maybe she’d misunderstood the message to meet at the house, though the fact that Donatella had expected her gave that possibility little credence.

Five minutes.

Was a very long time.

With a frustrated sigh, Buffy flounced out the door, ready to head back downstairs and wait in the freezer of a front room. A distant chiming from down the hall, nearly sucked away by the plush carpeting beneath her feet, made her hesitate, her eyes flickering to the row of closed doors stretching away from the stairs. There was so much of Paolo’s home that she had never seen, rooms he joked about storing away the souvenirs of a life that went on for centuries. While she had never pressed the issue, Buffy had always been curious what kind of mementos someone called The Immortal kept around. After all, she had left her entire life behind in a crater. All she collected any more were memories.

What did a man who’d lived dozens of lifetimes collect?

Casting one last glance down the curving staircase, Buffy made sure none of the staff was in sight before creeping to the door next to Paolo’s bedroom. The knob refused to turn in her hand. So did the next two.

The fourth gave her a shock before she even touched it.

Jerking her fingers back, Buffy frowned down at the simple gold-colored handle. It looked completely innocent, but when she pressed her palm to the wooden door, it was hot against her palm. She tested the wall to either side but the heat was contained to only the doorway, running along the hinges and seeping into the carpet at the floor. On a whim, she tried the next door down, but while it was locked, it didn’t have the same defensive mechanisms as the one that shocked her had.

Knowing what to expect this time, Buffy returned to the other doorway, gritting her teeth while she prepared to try it again. There was a moment when a faint voice in the back of her head warned her about breaking in. _Things are behind bars for a reason,_ it said. But her curiosity was louder. While Paolo’s morality was sometimes questionable, he had never been anything but honest with her about what he did or what he was. She found it hard to believe that he’d house something dangerous without alerting her to be careful.

Electricity burned through her veins when she gripped the handle the second time. Surprisingly, this door wasn’t locked.

Expecting to have to force it open, Buffy stumbled inside when the door gave way, falling to her hands and knees. The floor wasn’t carpeted in here, but before she could look up from the smooth wood, the door whispered shut behind her, leaving the room in pitch blackness. She was left with her skin crawling from the dark and the faintest of echoes pulsing around her.

Carefully, Buffy rose to her feet, arms reaching out in front of her as she turned around to make her way back to the door. It only took two steps for her fingertips to brush against something solid and, within seconds of fumbling, she found the switch in the wall for the lights.

What greeted her when she could see made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

The pulsing she’d felt more than heard was the electricity fuelling a room full of clocks, lots of them, lining all four walls from floor to ceiling, stacked on shelves where the wall was blocked. They were all shapes, all colors, all types, from the tiny digital one that looked like her mom’s old alarm clock to an oak grandfather clock that Buffy would have sworn was the perfect twin for the one she remembered from her dad’s LA apartment.

More oddly, they all had different times.

Her step was hesitant as she moved toward the nearest shelves. None of the clocks seemed to be actually working. While she stood there and stared, the clocks stared back, hands unmoving. Even the digital clock didn’t have its little red dots flashing to indicate the passing of seconds. Each seemed to be frozen in its own little window of time, brought together in this room for…what exactly?

_What is Paolo doing?_

She stopped in front of an old-fashioned mantle clock. Its hands were frozen at three-seventeen, the glass covering its face cracked as if it had been dropped. Ornate whorls decorated the domed top, and dust was embedded in the grooves, as if it had been packed away in a musty attic for decades. Peering more closely, Buffy frowned when she saw dull brown flakes caught in the spiderweb crack. She had seen too much violence in her lifetime not to recognize dried blood when she saw it.

Glancing back at the still closed door, Buffy debated for a moment before reaching to pick up the clock. Maybe there was a name or something on its bottom, she thought. Something that would explain where it had come from, who might have owned it.

She didn’t anticipate the same shock that had jolted her at the doorway to surge through her palms and into her body.

And she definitely didn’t expect to fall unconscious to the floor.

* * *

Buffy groaned as she rolled over onto her back. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest at the movement, aching as if she’d fallen from a second floor window, but as she opened her eyes, ready to curse whatever magic Paolo had placed on the stupid clock room, she froze.

A velvet sky stretched above her, stars faintly visible in the dark. The silver streak of an airplane caught her attention, and when she turned her head to follow its path, Buffy’s gaze landed on a low, stone building only yards away.

Her heart thudded in her ears.

_Spike’s crypt._

That wasn’t possible. The crypt was long buried in the Sunnydale crater. She must have hit her head harder than she’d thought.

Easing herself up into a sitting position, Buffy lifted a hand to her head to search for injuries. Her fingers came away wet and sticky from her brow, and when she probed further, she winced when a fingernail slid into a deep cut.

For a hallucination, it sure as hell hurt.

She wasn’t wearing her clubbing clothes any more, either. Instead of the flimsy halter and dark pants, Buffy wore jeans and a dark sleeveless blouse with sturdy boots on her feet in place of her strappy sandals. She didn’t recognize them specifically, but they were certainly her style, appropriate for those times when she would still go out slaying for the new Council. As she wobbled to stand, she wondered why it was her imagination had chosen this particular milieu to keep her entertained while she was unconscious.

A scream piercing the air kept her from wondering too long.

Alert before the pained cry had died away, Buffy took off in a dead run in its direction, winding gracefully among headstones long ingrained into her body’s memory. The sound of footsteps not as careful as hers guided her way and within a few hundred feet of where she’d woken up, Buffy saw a shadow disappear over the cemetery walls. She didn’t chase after it. She was far more interested in the group of four men verging on the spot the shadow had chosen for its exit.

The nearest went down in a heap when Buffy tackled him from behind, the pair rolling in the grass before being forced to an abrupt halt by a large headstone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the others stop in their chase to see what had happened to their friend, but the full force of her attention was focused on the husky body between her legs.

“I’d tell you to pick on someone your own size,” she said, pulling her stake from her waistband. “But…”

The quip faded away when his head whipped around to glare at her. It wasn’t a vamp. It was one of the demon half-breeds that Adam had created so many years earlier.

Her shock gave him the opportunity to throw her off his back, sending her flying against the cast-iron bars of the cemetery wall. Stars exploded in front of Buffy’s eyes at the contact, and she felt a fresh trickle of blood drip down the side of her face as she struggled to extract her arm from where it had slid between the bars. Damn it, she didn’t have time for this, even if it was just a hallucination. And the next time her brain decided to play games with her, Buffy was going to demand a Bermuda vacation. It was the least she deserved.

The others were rallying behind their friend, their other prey forgotten. All four were part of Adam’s experiments, Buffy realized. Though mostly human, they had the same skin grafts and odd scars that had characterized the few she’d killed when they’d destroyed the Initiative. Odd that her subconscious would conjure them now. She hadn’t thought about the Initiative in years.

Her arm finally came free of the wall, but as she turned to face her now-attackers, she heard a soft rustling behind her. The next thing she knew, a powerful hand was wrapped around her bicep and she was being lifted through the air, over the fence, onto the ground on the other side before she could respond.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Buffy demanded, whirling to face her would-be savior.

She was met with crystalline blue eyes that widened the moment they made contact with hers.

“Slayer…?” Spike murmured.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Waiting to meet with the Immortal, Buffy went exploring his house and found a room full of clocks. After touching one, she fell unconscious and woke up in Spike's cemetery. She was attacked by demon hybrids like the ones Adam had created, only to be rescued by Spike...

It was a moment out of time, frozen in mutual disbelief as Slayer and vampire regarded each other. How many times had she seen him in this moonlight, under these stars? Too many to count and not enough because never had he seemed like he did now.

Shadows hollowed his cheeks, his face more gaunt than she remembered. The scar in his brow was bisected by another that disappeared into his hairline, but the longer waves hid most of it from anybody who wasn’t looking for the imperfection. He had grown his hair out, she realized, roots dark with the tips still bleached bone white. It wasn’t the only change. His duster was gone as well, replaced with a softer brown leather that she didn’t recognize. The worst, though, was the wary fear that suddenly sprang to his eyes.

Buffy could take a lot of changes, even in her subconscious, but Spike being afraid of her was not one of them.

“Spike…” she murmured, taking a step forward.

He immediately countered with a step away, his normally fluid movements clumsy and awkward. “A trick,” she heard him mutter. “Just a trick.”

She didn’t have time to press. The iron bars at their side rattled as the quartet of demon half-breeds began scaling the wall to get to Buffy and Spike.

“Run!” she said, leaping forward to grab Spike by the collar. She pulled him in the direction of downtown, hoping that the signs of civilization would keep their pursuers at bay. The tug against her grip made her look back in alarm, but at the first furious glance from her, Spike seemed to acquiesce to Buffy’s lead, his footsteps pounding as furiously as hers.

They ran for several blocks, but as Main Street loomed in front of them, Spike suddenly tore free, veering to the left and toward the remains of the high school. Buffy barely had time to skid to a halt, checking behind her to see how far back the half-breeds were, before racing after him, calling out his name in a vain attempt to get him to stop.

She tackled him on the grass across the street from the school. The instant she had him pinned, however, Spike stopped struggling.

“Just do it,” he growled. Pressed facedown, his cheek scraped against the damp ground as he spoke, and she could see the electric fire of anger flashing in his eyes. “Don’t know how they brought you back, don’t know why. But I guess it doesn’t really matter, though, now does it? So do it, Slayer. Know you want to. Put us both out of our misery.”

His words stung, but even more than that, the contempt in his voice seared past her thundering pulse to make her face flame in confusion. This was worse than the hallucinations she’d had when she’d thought she was in a mental institution. At least then, she had flashes of her real life, glimpses of her friends and family and the vampire who loved her to help remember that it didn’t have to be that way. Whatever nightmare her head had created for her this time with her blackout didn’t even allow that reprieve.

Loosening her hold on the back of his neck, Buffy sat back onto his hips, the familiar lines of his body between her thighs producing an all-too intimate response. Spike didn’t move, but after a full minute of her continued stillness, he shifted enough to glance at her over his shoulder.

“What’s this about then?” he asked, his tone neutral.

“You’re not fighting me.” It was the most obvious of the differences – beyond him being alive – that left her head awhirl. “Why aren’t you fighting me?”

Spike snorted. “And get a blinding headache for the trouble? How bloody stupid do you think I am?”

_Headache._ From the chip.

But Spike hadn’t had the chip when he’d died.

Slowly, Buffy slid back off his body, careful not to hurt him as she stood up. The moment most of her weight was gone, Spike slithered out of her reach, rolling across the grass before leaping to his feet. His eyes were still blazing as he stared at her, but she didn’t say a word to stop him as he began to back away.

“Don’t know what your game is--,” he started.

“No game.”

Her simple assertion brought him to a halt. Reaching for the stake she had tucked back into her waistband when they’d started running, she held his gaze while she tossed it aside. Though the darkness swallowed it, Spike still glanced in its direction, turning back to her with brows drawn thick in confusion.

“You’re not real,” she said, her voice a hushed whisper in the silent night. “This is all a fantasy. I’ve hit my head and I happen to miss you so all this is is Buffy’s brain trying to make things better.”

His sudden bark of laughter made her jump. “Better?” Incredulity made it seem like he was shouting. With a wide sweep of his arms, Spike surveyed the eerie peace of the town around them. “You call this _better_? Must’ve been some blow, little girl, to make you think this kind of hell could be _better_.”

“You’re alive. That already makes it better.”

For a long minute, he stared at her, searching for…something. Buffy didn’t know what. When he finally moved, it was to drop his arms and shake his head.

“Someone’s told you the story wrong,” he said. “You’re the one that’s been dead. Goin’ on four years now.”

He said it with such conviction that it was Buffy’s turn to be taken aback. For the first time since waking up, she was beginning to wonder if maybe her assumption this wasn’t real was a mistake. Why would she create such a world where she was dead, Spike was alive, and Sunnydale still stood? Maybe that room full of clocks wasn’t as innocent as it looked, though that had been a generous thought from the start.

“Spike!”

The female voice came to them seconds before a figure came flying from the shadows, arms thrown around his neck in a desperate hug. Spike held her back, though his embrace was much gentler than the one she bestowed, as if he was afraid of hurting the young woman. His eyes jumped to Buffy, but she was too absorbed by the new arrival to fully note the wariness with which he regarded her.

Long blonde hair hung loose down the woman’s back, and her curvy form was mostly hidden in a baggy sweatshirt and cargo pants. Though her face was buried in Spike’s shoulder, Buffy didn’t need to see it to recognize the form or voice.

“Tara?” she asked, taking a step forward.

Though Tara twisted to see who was addressing her, Spike held her to the side so that he stood between the two women. It didn’t take more than a second for Buffy to recognize the protective stance, and her eyes widened slowly as it dawned her that he was trying to protect Tara from _her_.

“Back off, Slayer,” he warned. “Might hurt like a bitch, but I’d take it and more to give her time to get away from your likes.”

“You think I’d… _hurt_ Tara? What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“You’re the one who’s back from the dead,” came the cryptic response. “You tell me.”

She understood what this was now. A world where everyone and everything she’d ever loved and lost came back to haunt her. If she walked to her house and found her mother in the kitchen, Buffy was sure she would lose it.

“Spike…don’t.” The soft-spoken words surprised both Slayer and vampire, and they watched as Tara extricated herself from his arms to take a step toward Buffy. “You’re…” But the label or name or whatever she was going to say remained unspoken as she took a few more hesitant steps closer.

Spike stopped her with his fingers curled around her wrist. “She was at the cemetery where those gits were chasing you,” he said. “She’s got to be working for them somehow.”

Indignation made Buffy’s temper flare. “They were chasing me, too, you know,” she argued. “But it’s nice to know at least your selective memory is the same here.”

“She’s not.” Tara’s voice was low but firm. The attention she had fixed on Buffy made her skin prickle. “She’s lost.”

“OK, time out,” Buffy said. “One, I’m not lost. I know I’m in Sunnydale, which is just a world of wrong because it should be buried under a mile of dirt. And two…” She stopped, considering her words for a moment. “OK, I don’t have a two, but I’m sure it won’t take me long to come up with one, the way you guys are acting.”

“See?” Spike said to Tara, jabbing a finger at Buffy. “There’s a screw loose in there. Whoever did this brought her back wrong. Know you want to save all the little puppies, luv, but this one’s only goin’ to bite the hand that helps her. I say we let this one go.”

Hearing echoes of the words he’d uttered to her in that alley, right before their relationship had gone to hell, made Buffy’s audibly gasp, drawing Spike’s curious attention back to her. His piercing gaze swept over her again, lingering on the cut that still bled on her brow before moving downward, over her breasts and hips. The reaction he garnered was not one she wanted, but when it came to Spike and those hungry eyes, Buffy’s was a learned reaction.

His nostrils flared. When his head shot up so that his gaze could lock with hers, it took all of her control not to noticeably squeeze her thighs together to stem the flood of desire seeing him like that brought on. Had he really been dead for almost a year now?

Tara was oblivious to what was crackling between the pair. “Why were you running?” she asked, directing the question to Buffy. “Did you escape?”

It was a curious interrogation, but thankfully, the first answer was an easy one. “No,” Buffy replied. “I’m not even sure what I’m doing here. One minute I’m in Rome, and the next…” She snapped her fingers. She was tempted to click her heels together, too, but that was probably taking the want to go home theme a little too far.

“You tryin’ to tell us that you haven’t been dead these past four years?” Spike shot out.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you. I. Didn’t. Die.” A thought occurred to her. “Well, except for the jump from the tower, but that was _three_ years ago, and I was only dead for a few months before Willow brought me back---.”

“Willow?” Tara had gone pale at the mention of the witch.

Spike smirked. “There’s the hole in your story, Slayer. Adam’s boys should’ve prepped you a tad better, I think.”

It was the mention of an enemy long gone that made Buffy pause as much as Spike’s smug tone. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ …” She had forgotten how much she could dislike his superior than thou attitude when he believed he was right. “…you weren’t the only one to die when you decided to Custer with Adam. Took the witch and the boy with you when you went down.” His eyes gleamed. “Unless they’ve decided to bring them back, too, in which case I’ll be the first to say, the lot of you can just sod off.”

* * *

They were oblivious to the boy still sitting on the couch, too wrapped up in memories of Darla and Drusilla basking in Immortal afterglow while images of Buffy began to juxtapose over them. “I can’t believe she’d shag the bugger,” Spike muttered, shaking his head.

“Maybe there’s no shagging.” Angel looked to Andrew, hopefully. “There’s no shagging, right? They’re just…cuddling?”

Andrew half-shrugged, obviously reluctant to answer. “Cuddling, with kissing, and then they usually go in her bedroom and shut the door and we don’t see them again until...” He stopped when he realized neither vampire looked very happy with his explanation.

Spike sank into a chair. “They’re shagging.”

“Not tonight, though,” Andrew hastened to add. “Tonight they’re dancing. Buffy was meeting The Immortal at his place and then they were going out. She said not to wait up for her.”

Angel snapped back to attention. “His place? How long ago did she leave?”

“Awhile. But she wasn’t supposed to meet him until…” He looked at the clock on the VCR. “Now.”

Angel turned a calculating smile to Spike. “Feel like storming the castle?”

It was the best suggestion Spike had heard since they’d got off the plane. “And then some,” he replied, hopping back to his feet.

Andrew trailed after them as they headed for the door. “You came all the way to Rome to stop Buffy from dating The Immortal? Spike, you do know she doesn’t even know you’re alive, right?”

Both vampires stopped. It hadn’t occurred to Spike that Andrew might actually keep his word about keeping his undead state a secret. He had simply assumed that Buffy was pissed off for keeping her out of the loop and was biding her time before showing up to chew him out. If she didn’t know, what would showing up on her doorstep now, all jealousy ablazing, do to her?

Apparently, Angel had been stopped by a different thought.

“We should probably pick up the Capo’s head first,” he mused. “I think that’s even on the way.”

“Can I come with you?” Andrew asked, his face brightening.

“No,” Angel and Spike answered simultaneously.

They began walking down the hall, newfound purpose in their steps.

“Since Buffy doesn’t know you’re alive, maybe you should stay in the car. Let me take care of The Immortal.”

“Like bloody hell I will. ‘Sides, you couldn’t take him on your own a century ago. What makes you think you can do it now?”

“I’ve matured.”

Spike snorted. “Sounds like a fancy word for ‘got old’ to me.”

Their arguing continued as they disappeared down the stairs, their voices taking much longer to fade away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy thinks she's hallucinating with a Spike and Tara that are both alive and Adam in full power. Angel and Spike showed up at Buffy's apartment to find out she was meeting with the Immortal that night...

Hearing Spike’s announcement was like a punch in the stomach, such firm assurances that not only was she dead but she’d killed her two best friends at the same time making Buffy want to bend over and retch into the grass. She stared at him but didn’t see, lost in images of the world he described where the dead walked the earth and those she knew to live were long buried.

A concerned Tara took a hesitant step forward only to be stopped again by Spike’s hand on her arm. “You didn’t know,” she said instead to Buffy, the familiar gentleness so apparent in her voice that it drew a sting of tears to Buffy’s eyes. “Why didn’t you know?”

She didn’t have an answer. She had more questions. “What about Giles? Where’s Giles? What happened to him?”

Spike frowned, exchanging a glance with Tara before answering. “As not tempting the idea of show and tell is, Slayer, maybe you should just scarper along now. Nothin’ to see here, nothin’ to share.”

“You’re lying.” She knew it was true even before the words were out of her mouth. Buffy took deliberate steps toward both of them, noting the sudden tensing in Spike’s muscles as he prepared to flee, the determined rooting of Tara’s while she refused to budge. “You’ve never been able to lie to me, Spike. Not when you were trying to pretend it wasn’t you who’d written all that poetry I found in the basement and not now. So make this easier for both of us and tell me. Where’s. Giles.”

Mention of his poetry left him speechless, jaw dropped in such surprise that Buffy almost had the urge to laugh. It was Tara who took control then, wresting her arm from Spike’s grasp and confronting Buffy head on.

“You’re not her.” Though her tone was soft, the certainty was not, and a curious gleam came in Tara’s eyes. Lifting her hand, she molded the air around Buffy, feeling some unseen wall, curving fingers to catch dark air for seconds at a time before moving along. Sparks crackled at her fingertips, but neither woman flinched, not even when Tara reached to touch the blood clinging to Buffy’s brow. She drew her hand back, regarding the blood with curiosity. Then she puckered up her lips and blew on it.

The blood dissipated into a pale crimson smoke.

Spike’s eyes widened almost comically. “Bloody hell…” he muttered.

“Not quite,” Tara said. She almost seemed amused, and when she looked up to meet Buffy’s gaze, she was smiling. “She’s not really here, that’s all.”

Buffy waited for further explanation but when none came, finally said, “Huh?”

“We don’t have time for the Delphi act, kitten,” Spike added from behind Tara. “You tryin’ to tell me this one isn’t a threat to us?”

“I don’t think so, no.” Tara edged back so that she could address both of them directly. “Like I said, she’s lost. Caught, actually. Between dimensions. Her aura keeps fluctuating, like…tug of war. We have one end, and---.”

“That stupid clock has the other,” Buffy finished. “Great.”

Spike still looked unsure. “So she’s not the Slayer come back to haunt me into another grave?”

“I think that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along,” Buffy said. She frowned, remembering his earlier comment. “And if this is a dimensional thingy, what do dolphins have to do with it?”

* * *

The high school still smelled like charred demon, but Buffy kept a neutral façade as Spike and Tara led the way through the ruins, down the stairs into the basement and deep into the building’s bowels. Obviously it had never been rebuilt in this version of Sunnydale, but when they had finally agreed to allow her to come home with them, she hadn’t really expected they’d simply walk across the street. Why were they living over the Hellmouth? And what had stopped the school from getting rebuilt?

Much of the basement had been partitioned off into rooms, with makeshift curtains serving as walls where concrete wasn’t available. Buffy caught glances of other people as they navigated the maze, but while curious faces turned to follow the trio pass by, she didn’t recognize anyone other than the two she was with. The fact that it was a community, though, was clear. There were sounds of life, a quiet stereo playing hip-hop, cards being shuffled, and every once in a while, she would catch a whiff of food cooking. There was also blood. Lots of it. And once, she could’ve sworn she heard someone having sex.

It was a strange world she had stumbled into. If it wasn’t for the chance to see Spike alive again, Buffy would have wished that she had never found the place.

They came to a stop before a heavy door. “Maintenance” had at one time been painted across it, but now the letters were faded, a couple of them gone altogether. Pulling a key from his pants pocket, Spike unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping back so that Tara could enter first. His eyes met Buffy’s, held them for a long moment while neither of them of moved. It was hard not to lose herself in them. While this wasn’t her Spike, and while this Spike had less than zero trust in her, his eyes were exactly the same.

Piercing.

Inquisitive.

Taunting.

She had forgotten about the grey corona that surrounded his pupils. It saddened Buffy to think that she was losing details of Spike.

His head tilted toward the open doorway. “You waiting for an engraved invite, Slayer?” he asked. Something flashed across his face, and her eyes widened slightly when she realized it was anger. “Pardon me if I don’t feel the inclination.”

Buffy swept past him before she said something she would regret. She didn’t want to pick a fight with Spike, not now, and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of succumbing to whatever residual hatred he had for her counterpart. But when she saw the furnishings of the room they’d brought her to, she came to a dead halt.

Everything was soft, well-worn, with tapestries covering the concrete walls and Oriental rugs over the floors. A double bed was pushed in the corner, buried under pillows, and shelves crammed with books, candles, and magical supplies hid two of the other walls. Clothes both men’s and women’s hung neatly from a rail, and when Tara kicked off her shoes to sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed, Buffy realized with alarm that this was their room.

Spike and Tara’s.

One bed.

Her head snapped back to see Spike watching her, waiting to gauge her reaction.

“Tara’s the best witch we’ve got left,” he said. “If there’s a way to fix your problem, she’ll find it.”

When she glanced back to the bed, Tara was ducking her head, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Spike’s exaggerating. I’m not that---.”

“Yes, you are,” Buffy finished. “I’ve seen it.”

Spike began moving around behind her, crossing the room to the shelves and pulling candles out by the handful. “The usual, luv?”

It took Buffy far too long to realize the question and endearment weren’t directed at her.

“I’m going to meditate for a little bit,” Tara explained. She patted the space in front of her, indicating Buffy should sit down. “By focusing on your aura, I can determine where exactly the rift was made. That’ll give us a starting point to help us figure out how to get you back.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Nothing. Just relax.”

Tara’s hands were surprisingly cold when they took Buffy’s, but she stiffened against the involuntary shiver that ran down her spine. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spike start lighting the candles he’d placed around the bed, but by the time she shifted her attention back to Tara, the witch already had her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even as she seemed to go into a trance.

Buffy waited until Spike was done before speaking.

“How long do you think this is going to take?” she whispered, afraid to shatter whatever spell had been woven.

Tara didn’t answer.

“She’s not goin’ to be able to hear you anyway,” Spike commented, his voice at normal tones. Pulling over a chair, he straddled it as he regarded her with narrowed eyes. “And the way she usually goes, I’d say you’ve got a half hour, forty-five minutes of sittin’ in front of you.” His gaze dropped to her folded legs, and he smirked. “Good luck with that.”

“That means you’ll have lots of time to answer my questions.”

“Goes both ways, Slayer.”

His attitude was a lot less confrontational, she realized. Though it was obvious he wasn’t thrilled with her presence, some of his initial fear had been rubbed off, probably due to Tara’s influence. Now he simply seemed poised for anything. Another knot in her stomach untied.

“I want to know where Giles is,” she said softly. “Did he die, too?”

Spike’s jaw ticked. “No,” he replied. His brusque tone said more about his reluctance to satisfy her curiosity than the shift of his eyes to the doorway. “He’s here. Fighting with us.”

“What are you fighting?”

The shake of his head was quick. “Oh, no, you don’t. Tara might be sucked in by old times’ sake, but I know you, and just because you’re from another dimension or some gobbledygook like that, that doesn’t change the fact I know you’ll try to get something for nothin’.” He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “So it’s goin’ to work like this. I give you an answer, you give me one. I run out of questions, so do you. Got it?”

Buffy nodded. “Quid pro quo.”

Her response seemed to startle him. “Didn’t figure you for knowin’ Latin.”

“I don’t. I know _Silence of the Lambs_.”

The lightness of her tone seemed to take him aback, like the last thing he expected was for her to joke with him. To his credit, though, he didn’t retreat again.

“You knew about me and my poetry,” he said, skipping past the pleasantries. “How?”

Her hands were warming, heat spreading down her arms. She wanted to break the circle Tara had created and go over to Spike, be the one straddling him instead of him on the chair, but that would wig him out even more than friendly conversation, she knew. This wasn’t her Spike, she had to keep reminding herself. This was Tara’s, apparently.

“You told me.” Her voice was nostalgic. “You wouldn’t let me actually _read_ any of it, though. You always said it wasn’t ready.”

“And why the hell would I tell you something like that?”

Shaking her head, Buffy couldn’t help her smile. “Now who’s not playing fair?” she scolded. “It’s my turn. Why do you live like this?” She looked pointedly around the room, nodding toward the doorway. “I’m guessing it’s both demons and people down here, but you guys act like you’re in hiding. And I’m not even going to touch the whole freakiness of this kind of commune. That’s weird, even by Charles Manson standards.”

With a sigh, Spike rose from his chair and began pacing around, running his fingers through his long hair. “Live like this because we don’t have much say in the matter,” he said. “Those half-breeds you saw above ground? All over the place. And Adam’s always on the lookout for makin’ more. He’s got such a stranglehold on the Hellmouth that if you’re not willing to hide, a bloke’s only choices are to let Adam play Frankenstein, turn against your own kind to do his dirty work, or leave town.” He stopped, his eyes shockingly somber as he turned back to her. “If you know me as well as you say you do, you know I’m not the sort to do any of those.”

“No, you’re not,” she murmured in agreement. The memory of him standing over the Hellmouth, burning gold from the power of the amulet, made her suddenly regret asking the question. Though part of her loved him for what he had done, there was another, smaller, more petty part that was furious he had left her. Spike didn’t leave; that was what had always set him apart. “You stay and fight, even if you know it’s going to kill you.”

His head tilted, eyes softening. “There’s a ring of ease to that that makes a vamp more than a tad uncomfortable,” he mused. “’Cause if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were nattering on about your own fight, not a bit of rough and tumble for kicks’ sake.”

She didn’t reply. This Spike wasn’t ready to hear the truth about what had happened to his counterpart. Buffy wasn’t entirely sure he would ever be ready.

When it became obvious she wasn’t going to rise to his bait, Spike sighed, returning to his chair. “You said something about Sunnydale bein’ buried. And before you popped into this place, you were in Rome. What happened? Adam blow the town up for good?”

He kept coming back to Adam. Buffy made a mental note to make that her next question. “We closed the Hellmouth,” she explained. Clearly, by the sudden shooting of his brows into his hairline, it wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “My Sunnydale has been gone for almost a year now.”

“Didn’t know you could do that.” His eyes slid sideways toward the door, a sharp cunning making them brighter.

“And I don’t recommend you find out. Seriously, Spike.” She waited for him to glance back. “You keep talking about Adam. He’s not dead here? When I died, I didn’t…kill him?”

His snort of laughter showed how ludicrous he thought her question was. “He didn’t even break a sweat gettin' rid of you and your lot. The only good thing that came from you tryin’ was that it got the rest of us out.” His lip curled into a sneer. “S’pose I should _thank_ you for that.”

Before she could retort, Buffy felt Tara’s hand stir against hers, her head snapping back to see the young witch open her eyes. They gleamed with unshed tears, and as Tara broke the contact between them, she shivered.

“What’s wrong?” Buffy asked.

Tara shook her head. “I…I…I can’t…” When Spike appeared at the side of the bed and tried to reach out to her, Tara jerked away from him, slithering around Buffy to clamber off the foot of the bed. “I need a few minutes,” she said in a rush, and before either of them could stop her, ran out the door.

* * *

Only the soft rap at the bedroom door could draw Paolo’s attention away from Buffy on the bed, and he rubbed his brow as he crossed silently to answer it. “Yes?” he asked Donatella, waiting on the other side.

“There are visitors, sir,” she said in rushed Italian. “Two vampires asking for the Slayer. They’re making quite the scene.”

Paolo frowned. “They asked for Buffy by name? Did you tell them she was here?”

She was already shaking her head in denial before he’d finished voicing the question. “Of course not. But they’re insisting she has to be here, that her family has said she was to meet you here.”

He looked back to Buffy’s recumbent form. Her breathing was shallow, her cheeks a pretty pink from the raised temperature of her body. He had never dared to think that she would ever find his little hobby, so to find her unconscious amongst the stolen moments had been disconcerting. She had gone wandering, of course. Bored, most likely, waiting for him. It was difficult not to be amused by that. Buffy Summers was constantly a delight to him.

But still. This was a problem. In all the time he’d been collecting these moments, he had never had the object of his affection stumble across them before. The paradox her contact created was an interesting puzzle, but not one he had the luxury to ponder, not with people already looking for her. He had to find some way to wake her before her absence became noticeable.

“Get rid of them,” he said in reference to the vampire problem at the door. “Explain that I called and asked for Buffy to meet me at the club. That will divert them sufficiently for the time being.” Already done with the mild disturbance, he headed back for his seat, his mind turning over potential solutions to his dilemma. “When they’re gone, get me Ilona Costa Bianchi on the phone. I suspect I will need further assistance in reviving Buffy than my own meager talents.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike and Tara took Buffy to the high school where she got a glimpse how they lived, while the Immortal called Wolfram & Hart for assistance in waking her...

She was stopped from chasing after Tara by a cool grip around her elbow.

“Leave it,” Spike warned.

Turning back to him, Buffy met the blue menace of his gaze with narrowed eyes. “Do you really think I’d _hurt_ her?” she asked. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

“And she’ll tell you.” His fingers weren’t moving, though she suspected that if she tried to break free, Spike wouldn’t fight it. “You might have your own Tara back in your world, but this one’s mine. And if she’s askin’ for time, there’s a reason. I’m not goin’ to have you buggering up her head.”

_Mine._ He could have said almost anything else after that; all Buffy heard was Spike’s claim for a woman.

Who wasn’t Buffy.

It made her heart hurt.

Her prolonged silence and immobility eased the threat in Spike’s eyes. What replaced it, however, was equally as startling.

“Why do you keep doin’ that?” he asked, his voice a nonplussed whisper.

“Do what?” Buffy’s query matched his volume.

Slowly, Spike uncurled his fingers from her elbow, his hand dropping to his side as he took a step away from her. “Look at me like…” His teeth snapped audibly shut, his jaw working as if he had to physically bar the words from coming out. “You don’t hate me,” he finally said, and his volume had returned to something resembling normal. “The things you’ve said. The fighting. The poetry. You know me when a Slayer knowing a vampire in those kinds of ways shouldn’t be natural. Not if that vampire isn’t named Angel, at least.”

The bitterness in his last statement was so like her Spike that Buffy had to look away or risk him seeing much more than he already had. “It’s natural if you spend years fighting next to each other,” she said. She wandered over to the bookshelves, pretending to be interested in the assortment of books. When she recognized so many of the authors as Spike’s favorites, she hid her small nostalgic smile. “There’s only so much conversation two people can have while they’re waiting for fledgelings to rise. And you like to talk. A _lot_.”

“But not to _you_.” His heavy footsteps warned of his approach, and Buffy turned in time to be pressed up against the bookshelves, his lean body hard against her softer curves. It would have been simple to maneuver away from him, but there was one indisputable fact that stopped her. She didn’t want to.

His darkened eyes settled on her mouth for long seconds before drifting downward, noting the proximity of their chests, the angle of her hips toward his. “And here it is again,” Spike murmured, but Buffy suspected it was an observation for his own sake, not hers. “A vamp might begin to think you want me like this.” Dark lashes lifted suddenly, pinning her just as effectively as his body. “So quid pro quo and all that rot, Slayer. Why don’t you hate me?”

What could she say?

_“You saved the world.”_

_“You counted the days I was dead. Like it mattered.”_

_“You loved me.”_

_“Because I love you.”_

Oh, yeah, those would go over _real_ well. This Spike didn’t want the truth. He had enough of his own truth to deal with, without adding hers to the mix.

“Maybe because Tara isn’t the only one who sees the man inside the vamp,” she finally said. “I might not be as quick on the uptake as your girlfriend, but I saw it. Eventually. And it’s kind of hard to hate someone when you know what’s motivating him isn’t necessarily a violent soul.”

Her answer, as vague as she could make it without actually lying, still managed to intrigue him, and he remained motionless, regarding her for so long that Buffy was tempted to pinch him just to see if he was still with her. “Point of fact, pet,” he eventually said, though he didn’t back away. “Tara’s a lesbian, and last time I checked…” Deliberately, he thrust his hips against hers. Buffy’s eyes widened at the arousal she didn’t expect. “…I’m not a girl.”

“But…” This time, she did push him off, slipping out so that she could stand freely in the middle of the room. She’d never been able to think clearly when he touched her. “Aren’t you two…together?”

He followed her eyes to the bed, then back at her with an amused quirk of a brow. “Shagging, you mean? No. Which part of lesbian was so hard to understand? Because if you want another---.”

She cut him off mid-rude gesture. “So what are you, then?”

With a sigh, Spike shook his head, crossing to where he’d dropped his coat and digging around in the pocket for his lighter. “Not that it’s any of your bloody business,” he said around the cigarette he stuck between his lips, “but she’s my partner. Just like every other demon in the joint has a human partner.” He sucked hard, and then exhaled loudly so that the smoke curdled the air. “Only difference is, I’m not actually shagging mine.”

This was part of the whole commune arrangement that didn’t make sense to her. “What the hell is this place?” Buffy challenged. “I’ve been around the block enough now to know the demon equals bad math isn’t always right. But this…”

Marching over to the door, she yanked it open, stepping out into the hall and the sounds of life that filtered from other regions of the basement. “You’re hiding. On top of the _Hellmouth_. With humans you’re supposed to eat! Where’s the rightness of _that_?”

She stood there, defiantly, hands on her hips while she waited for Spike’s explanation. With a growl around the cigarette hanging from his lip, he marched out and grabbed her arm, pulling her none too delicately back into the room and kicking the door shut with his heel.

“Are you off your nut?” The cigarette he now held between his fingers scattered ash around the floor as he gesticulated with his words. “Unless you have a death wish I don’t know about, you’d best keep your gob shut around here, Slayer. The others find out who you are, and there’s goin’ to be chaos. It’s bad enough you spooked Tara. The other won’t be nearly so nice about it.”

Her arm was tingling where he’d touched her, and Buffy rubbed at the sore spot his grasp had left. Spike didn’t even seem aware that he’d hurt her, if only mildly, and she wasn’t about to say anything to let him know that his chip hadn’t worked on her since she came back from the dead this last time. “Fine,” she said, deliberately pitching her voice lower. “I’ll be the perfect, other dimension, houseguest. As long as you tell me exactly what I’m seeing here.”

Taking one last drag on his cigarette, Spike stomped over to the bookshelf and ground it out on a dusky glass tray, marred with ash burns. “You’re seeing survival,” he said. “We can’t feed, the humans can’t fight. What we’ve worked out is the only way we stand a chance against Adam and his half-breeds.”

“You’re… _all_ chipped?” At his curt nod, she frowned. “OK, I can see the advantages to humans having demon bodyguards, if things are that bad with Adam. But what does teaming up with a human do for _you_?” she asked. “You can’t bite them.”

“Can,” Spike corrected. “When it doesn’t hurt.”

She snorted. “Last time I checked, that was never.”

“Yeah? And when was the last time you had a vamp bite you in the middle of a fuck, pet?” His crude language was accompanied by his tongue curling behind his teeth, flecks of gold dancing in his eyes. Deliberately, Spike let his gaze drop first to her neck, and then over her body, drawing a shiver and an automatic response that had Buffy squeezing her thighs together.

“Or maybe you do know,” he continued. His voice was almost a purr as he advanced back to face her. “Would explain why you’re not afraid of me. Some vamp got his fangs into you good and proper, didn’t he? Taught you how to want him, how good it can feel on the other side of the pain?”

He was getting off on the teasing. Standing as close as he was to her, Buffy could feel the bulge of his jeans brushing against her stomach, saw each flare of his nostrils as he breathed in her arousal. She swallowed, though that did nothing to lessen the slow speeding of her heart.

“I told you why I wasn’t afraid of you,” she ground out. “And you told me you weren’t sleeping with Tara.”

“I’m not.” Slowly, he tilted his head, as if he was weighing each of her words. “At least, not in the way you’re thinking. She and I have a different arrangement. I don’t get my blood from the tap.”

Her eyes flickered to the shelves and the microwave mostly hidden by the candles and books. Spike never looked away from her.

“But that’s just me,” he went on. “The rest of ‘em, they do it the old-fashioned way.” Almost as if he was moving in slow motion, Spike reached forward and ran a fingertip along Buffy’s jaw, trailing down the side of her neck as he spoke. “When you’re hungry and you’ve had to set to begging for blood, you’ll do about anything to get a bite.”

He didn’t stop at her neck. His palm grazed further, downward, sculpting the curve of her breast.

“Human body’s a marvelous thing, you know.” Buffy had no idea when Spike’s voice had gotten so low, rumbling from somewhere deep inside his chest. “Didn’t take us too long to suss out that if a body’s _excited_ enough, pain becomes pleasure. Can’t kill ‘cause that crosses a line, but to _feed_ …”

She was mesmerized by the sight of his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip, but Spike’s attention was riveted to the path of his hand, skimming over her nipple and onto her abdomen.

“But how’d it get that far?” she whispered. “I mean, you were fine on the bagged blood we gave you at Giles’.”

His head snapped back up, his hand jerking away. Anger replaced the hunger in Spike’s glittering eyes. “Maybe in _your_ world,” he sneered. “But in this one, the only thing I got from you and Rupert before everything went to hell was the door slammed in my face. Swallowed my pride, but all you cared about were your bloody yams.”

“I…what?”

“You heard me. I asked for your help, and you said no. The Initiative boys picked me up again that night because you lot were too busy stuffing your faces to bother with your do-gooding, and I didn’t see the light of the moon again until you tried takin’ Adam down a couple months later.” He kicked at one of the extinguished candles on the floor in his haste to get away from her. “That quid pro quo enough for you, Slayer?”

* * *

They stepped out of the crowded club into the blessedly cooler night air. “He’s screwing with us, you know,” Angel said at Spike’s side. “The bastard’s probably sitting at home right now, laughing about sending us on a wild goose chase.”

Spike had been thinking the same thing, though in a lot less polite language. “So we head back there and tear his bloody head off,” he announced. As he started to head for the car they’d rented, though, Angel’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm. Spike looked back at him with a frown. “Tell me we’re not, and it’s your bloody head coming off first.”

Lifting the bag they’d carried inside the club to look for Buffy, Angel shook it slightly, the Capo audibly rolling around inside. “Let’s take care of the first head on our priority list,” he said. “Then we go---.” He stopped, his low brow furrowing as something obviously sprung to his mind.

Spike waited for him to continue speaking, but when it didn’t happen right away, he stuck his hands into his pockets and scowled. “That’s your constipated, ‘I’m having an epiphany’ look. Either spit it out, or I’ll go take care of the wanker myself.”

Angel ignored the gibe. “I was thinking, we’re on the Immortal’s turf here. What we need is to get him on ours. And since we have to deliver the Capo to the Wolfram and Hart offices anyway, I say we start using some of our pull. A demon like that, there’s no way Ilona doesn’t know who he is.”

“Who’s Ilona?”

“Head of the Rome office.” His mind made up, Angel walked to the car, leaving Spike to rush to match his stride. “I talked to her on the phone when we were setting all this up. We…bonded.”

“Which is code for you tried to charm her and she didn’t hang up on you in the first two minutes.”

“As a matter of fact…” Yanking open the back door, Angel tossed the bag into the back seat, not noticing the force of his throw made it roll across the leather and against the opposite door. “…we talked about a lot of things. Wine. Art. Opera.”

“Great,” Spike muttered, sliding into the passenger seat. “Someone with an even thicker stick up her ass than you.”

* * *

The rushed lilt of Ilona Costa Bianchi’s words was lost in Spike’s fascination with the relationship between her tiny dress and her not so tiny breasts. Must be magic, he finally decided. It was the only explanation for why she wasn’t busting out all over.

When she began walking away from them, though, heading for the elevator, the fleshy jiggle was enough to break him from the spell and catch her final words.

“…can discuss it in the morning,” Ilona said, pressing the button to go down.

Spike had been paying enough attention to know that Angel had yet to give any specifics about Buffy. All he had said was that they needed the office’s aid, and already she was giving them the brush-off. He dug his heels in, prepared to fight, when Angel beat him to the punch.

“Our friend could be in grave danger,” he said. He stretched his arm across the closed doors of the elevator, barring Ilona from getting on when it opened. “You can’t send someone else to meet with this client?”

Ilona smiled, shoulders lifting in a noncommittal shrug. “Any other client, perhaps. But when the Immortal calls and asks for my assistance, I have no choice. I must go.” She brightened as if coming up with a brilliant idea, unaware of the quick glance between the two vampires. “You come with! The Immortal, I am sure he would be pleased to have such charming resources at his command. This problem of his, he believes it will take a creative solution. Could be fun, no?”

“This…problem,” Spike said carefully. “Don’t s’pose he said what it was, did he?”

The elevator doors swished open, and Ilona smiled pointedly at the arm Angel still had blocking the way. As soon as he dropped it, she swept inside, gesturing for them to join her. “With the Immortal, there is only ever _one_ problem,” she said. A crimson-tipped finger pushed the lobby button. “Amore.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy found out that the alternate dimension is a result of her turning Spike aside when he came to her for help after he was chipped, while Spike and Angel went to Ilona at W&H for help with the Immortal...

Sitting heavily on the edge of the bed, Buffy blinked as she tried to digest the implications of Spike’s story. This world and everything in it – Adam’s maniacal grip on the Hellmouth wielding his demon army, the death of her friends, the twisted relationships between humans and vampires in a desperate bid for survival – was because of a single choice she had made. Instead of letting Spike in that Thanksgiving so many years earlier, this world’s Buffy had shut him out. Time had marched on, minute by minute with hers, but where her world was a sunny spring in Rome, this world was caught in a nightmare April in a Sunnydale that had never fallen. Not to the First, at least.

If ever she needed proof that good will could go a long way, this was it.

Spike paced the opposite end of the room, haunted eyes narrowed as he watched her reactions to his story. He no longer seemed interested in pushing her buttons, though his erection was still prominent through his jeans. With every step, the silence stretched longer.

“No wonder you hate me so much,” Buffy said, shattering the quiet though her voice was no more than a hush. “You’ve probably spent the past four years blaming me for everything bad in your life.”

His gaze ducked guiltily. “Not everything. Blame Adam and the Initiative boys just as much.”

Apologies were pointless. She couldn’t change history. Hell, it wasn’t her history to change. But sitting there, feeling helpless, finally understanding why it was she was regarded with such venom, all Buffy wanted was to fix it. She couldn’t save her Spike, but this one didn’t have to live like a rat trapped in a never-ending maze. This one still had a chance.

“You’re plotting something.” He said it out of the blue, startling her from the loops her brain was spinning. When she looked up, he had moved closer, halted now in his concentrated pacing. “You goin’ to share or do I get Tara back here to do her mojo?”

Admitting that she was brainstorming on a way to make things better bordered on the Land of That Might Be Pushing Things Too Far. This Spike didn’t trust her any more than his chip – and Tara – forced him to, and while she was eager to mend what she could, Buffy couldn’t forget how long it had taken them to come to terms in her own dimension. This required delicate handling, much like she had tried when he’d been crazy in the school basement. Granted, that sort of gentling hadn’t lasted long before Buffy got frustrated and tried the tough love approach, but she was older now. That was supposed to mean wiser, right?

That was her theory, and she was going to stick to it.

In the meantime, she still had to tell him something.

“I’m mostly wondering what it’s going to take to get you to believe me,” she said. “Regardless of what happened to you, _I’m_ not your enemy, Spike. I need for you to know that.”

His jaw ticked as he regarded her, wheels visibly turning inside his head. At least he didn’t seem so afraid of her any more. That was a huge step in the right direction.

“The enemy of my enemy,” he murmured, and then seemed to make up his mind about something. Folding his arms across his chest, he dared the next response from her with a glint in his eye that was classic Spike. “You say you killed Adam? Tell me how.”

Buffy frowned. “What do you mean, _how_? We ripped out his power source.”

She might as well as have said they’d shot Adam to the moon. “How the bloody hell did you suss out where his power source was?” Spike demanded.

“It was in the files you stole for Will…”

Her voice trailed off. Now it all made sense. In this world, Spike had never worked for them, so he had never stolen the Initiative files that led to figuring out how to destroy Adam once and for all. He hadn’t been around at all that year, and as the implications of that sank in, Buffy’s mind raced to try and figure out what else couldn’t have happened without Spike around.

“Can you do it again?” She met his eyes, and for the first time since meeting this incarnation, Buffy saw the familiar burn of hope deep within the blue irises. “If I had your back and got you in, could you do it again?”

“Sure,” she replied. It was an automatic response, mostly because she knew with Spike at her side, they had been pretty unstoppable most of the time, but as soon as it came out of her mouth, doubt started to creep in. “Except it wasn’t just me,” she added. “Willow and the gang did this spell that turned me into some kind of Super Slayer---.”

“Tara’s a dab hand with the magic now,” Spike interrupted. He was gaining momentum, his excitement growing as the possibilities began to reveal themselves, unable to stop from bouncing on the balls of his feet. “And Rupert’s still got a trick or two up his sleeve. Between the pair of ‘em, they should be able to juice you up enough to do what needs to be done.”

When he started to head for the door, Buffy jumped up and grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. “You go into this half-cocked and you’re going to get yourself killed.”

His eyes dropped pointedly to her slim hand but he did nothing to shake it off. “And you have a problem with that because…” His lashes lifted. She shivered at the bare restraint that greeted her. “…you don’t hate me.”

Buffy swallowed, wetting her suddenly dry throat. Dangerous ground here, especially with his deliberate tossing of her own words back at her. It didn’t help that he could pick up on every single one of her body’s reactions to him, that the simple act of grabbing his arm could make her heart speed up for a fraction of a second or that noticing how thick and dark his eyelashes were made her remember how they could tickle against her inner thigh when he was eating her out.

It definitely didn’t help that he seemed determined to test exactly how far he could push her, either.

When he took a step toward her, Buffy stepped back, letting her hand drop. “These are different circumstances than what I had four years ago,” she said, trying to get him back onto the subject of killing Adam. “And I’m a different person.”

Spike wasn’t backing down. He advanced further, forcing her to back closer to the bed. “So am I.”

She didn’t know if it was supposed to be a threat or a warning. Either way, Buffy was too absorbed in watching him approach to see his hand shoot out to grab her wrist until he was already tugging her flush against him.

“Let’s test a theory, shall we?”

She should have expected it. Really, _how_ many years had she spent with Spike and his spontaneity? Not to mention his need to be the one with the power. Even with the chip, Spike had looked for ways to get the upper hand, resorting to words first and then his body later. So Buffy had no excuse to be surprised when he pressed his lips to hers.

Her only excuse was that, in spite of being in cloudcuckooland, she loved him. This could be her last chance to get anything from any version of Spike.

The kiss was hard and unyielding, reminiscent of those early days when it had been about forgetting about dying and forgetting about herself. He forced his tongue past her nonexistent resistance, driving in to devour, and pulled her harder against his hungry body, his other hand settling in the small of her back to mold her hips to his. Not responding would have been impossible. Buffy lifted her arms, and though the softer texture of his hair was unfamiliar, the sculpture of his skull was not, her fingers curving around his head to keep the contact as long as possible.

It ended far too quickly, with a shove that had Buffy’s head spinning almost as much as the caress.

His eyes were feverish as Spike wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. She thought for a moment that maybe they’d drawn blood from the sudden brunt of the kiss, but when she darted her tongue out to lick her own lips, she tasted nothing but Spike.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice oddly hoarse.

“Don’t try and tell me you haven’t been creaming for that since I saved you from those half-breeds,” he scoffed. “My head’s been thick with the scent of you for hours now.”

Buffy gaped at him in disbelief, momentarily distracted from the kiss by his bluntness. “Don’t do me any _favors_ , Spike. I’ve gone almost a whole year without you around. I can definitely last one more night.”

“Came to my senses, did I?” He sneered, slowly regaining his cooler equilibrium, and hooked a thumb through his belt loop. “You might have taken me in in your world, but I guess you couldn’t keep me. Did I suss out how to feed on my own without bein’ your charity case, Slayer? Or did you get tired of havin’ a punching bag that couldn’t punch back?”

“It wasn’t like that,” she ground out.

“Wasn’t it? How the fuck could it be anything else?”

“You _died_ , all right!” She was done with trying to pussyfoot around her reality. Spike had told his story and now he had better prepared to hear hers. “You’re dead, Tara’s dead, Sunnydale is gone, and I’ve spent the past year trying to move on with my life. I have a gorgeous boyfriend who showers me with expensive Italian shoes, and I only have to slay if I want to or Giles needs me, but still, at least once a week, I dream about you.”

He didn’t flinch as she stalked forward and shoved him against the wall so forcefully that a book on the shelves fell over with an echoing thud. “Don’t try and knock me off my game with your innuendo and snide remarks,” Buffy warned. “I’ve seen it all. You can’t do or say anything that will surprise me any more.”

“Looks like I already did.” His head tilted, his eyes gleaming in studied calculation. “Came back from the dead, didn’t I?”

“You’re not my Spike.”

“No, but I’m all you’ve got.”

The words struck exactly as he intended, stabbing straight through her resolve and into her heart. It drove her back against him, her lips desperate as they sought his, trying to regain those fleeting moments where the world made better sense. Spike didn’t fight her, and instead slid his arms around to grab her ass and hitch her more firmly against his erection, teeth savage, fingers so hungry that Buffy wasn’t sure if he was responding to her desire or summoning his own. A part of her was convinced it was the latter.

Too quickly, she broke away, labored breathing making her chest burn. “That’s why I’m not letting you die again,” she said. “Now. Take me to Giles.”

* * *

It was hard not to look pleased when the housekeeper extended the invitation to enter before realizing who it was with Ilona. With a smirk, Spike sauntered past her, ignoring her panicked eyes as he followed Angel into the front salon, then listened to her rushed footsteps as she likely ran to tell the Immortal the vampires were back.

Buffy’s scent came rushing at him as soon as he sat on the white couch. It had been strong at her apartment, of course, but that was to be expected. Finding the heady perfume here was both the vindication Spike needed to know their earlier inquisition had been right on the money and a bittersweet ache reminding him of all the months he’d chosen to stay away. She was living her life, as he had hoped she would, but what had the cocktail of his fear and good intentions actually done for Buffy? Driven her into the arms of a man notorious for taking lovers and then tossing them aside.

Now the Immortal needed help for Buffy. If she was hurt, Spike would never forgive himself.

The soft whisper of the opening door drew Spike back to his feet, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he took his place next to Angel. Time had done nothing to change the Immortal’s appearance. Black eyes made blacker by his bronzed skin. Dark hair waving slightly where it tumbled over his low brow. A mouth too wide for his narrow face.

Spike’s lip curled in disgust. He could still see the wanker’s smug smirk through the window of his palazzo when he had forced Angel and Spike to turn away a century earlier. This time, Spike was determined to permanently wipe the smirk from the Immortal’s face.

Ilona rushed forward with a flurry of Italian and air kisses that never quite met skin. The Immortal smiled and murmured a response, but it wasn’t until she gestured back toward the waiting vampires that he deigned to glance in their direction.

The lack of recognition in his dark eyes made Spike seethe.

“From Los Angeles? What brings you to my fair city?”

His English was as impeccable as his appearance, and Spike and Angel tensed at the same time. “Business,” Angel said, his voice terse. He shoved his fists in his armpits, an old trick to make himself look even broader. “But as it turns out, Buffy’s an old friend of mine.”

“Ours,” Spike was quick to interject. “ _Very_ good friends.”

He regarded them for a moment, and then shrugged. “She does not like to talk about her past,” the Immortal said. “Very much a girl of the moment, is she not?” When Donatella appeared at his elbow, he leaned imperceptibly to the side to listen to her frantic whispers, his eyes narrowing with every rushed Italian word.

Spike wished his knowledge of the language encompassed more than getting directions and how to order a beer.

“What were your names again?” the Immortal asked warily.

“Oh!” Ilona swept back and squirmed her way between them. “This is the great Angelus, and this is William the Bloody. Handsome, are they not?”

“The vampires,” he murmured. “Now I understand.” His smile returned, though it lacked the warmth he’d bestowed upon Ilona. “Since it is too late for me to bar your entry, I suppose I should enlist your aid. After all, I am certain you wish only the best for Buffy.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, expecting the others to follow as he headed for the stairs. Nobody said a word until they were in the upper hallway, but the stronger scent of Buffy surrounding them made the skin prickle at the back of Spike’s neck. There wasn’t blood, though. That had to be a good sign.

“Buffy was early for our assignation,” the Immortal said, stopping in front of a closed door. “She…grew bored. And found this.”

He pushed it open, the hinges silent. The room was abuzz with electricity, but it was the odd spectacle of hundreds of clocks crammed into nooks and corners, stacked against the walls, that pulled Spike across the threshold, Angel close behind.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“What is this?” Angel demanded.

The Immortal slid around the periphery of the room, well-manicured fingers trailing along the various faces of the clocks. More than once, he stopped, pausing to caress them with almost sensual strokes. “This is Buffy,” he said, his voice a reverent whisper, as if speaking louder would be sacrilege to the room’s constants. “This is the potential of her life.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy learned more of the changes, and Angel and Spike discovered the room of clocks...

Spike could only listen, gobsmacked, as the Immortal explained the import of the room, every word an awed prayer to the living shrine he had created. On a stalker scale, it made Spike and Angel look like amateurs, and as much as he bristled at the notion of anyone being this obsessed with his Slayer, Spike’s irritation at the Immortal’s grandiosity was even greater. Was there anything they could best the wanker at?

Angel was as clearly annoyed as Spike was, lips thinning to invisibility, brow drawing so tight that his dark eyes were little more than angry beads. “How is any of this possible?” he interrupted. Though his voice was a trifle raised, in the subdued atmosphere of the room, it sounded like Angel was shouting. “This much dimensional energy concentrated in a single location? I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty sure we’re talking chaos here.”

The Immortal visibly winced, raising an elegant hand to cut Angel off. “There is nothing that can’t be achieved, given the proper means and motivation.” He smiled, and while it was obviously intended to be ingratiating, it only served to make Spike growl. “And since I have both…”

“And each one of these is a portal?” Angel pressed. “To…someplace else?”

“Only to the life’s owner. To the rest of us, they are just art, but to she who made the choice…” He picked up a small wind-up clock with a picture of Raggedy Ann on its face, his finger tracing the frozen hands like that of a lover. “A single moment where everything can change. Captured like so much ephemera. It is beautiful, no?”

“No,” Spike barked, finally finding his voice. “Where did Buffy go?”

“Technically, nowhere. She is resting.” When both vampires moved to leave the room, the Immortal glided sideways to block the door. “You must believe me. I never meant for Buffy to learn of my little hobby. I had every safeguard put up to bar her from this room---.”

“And if you knew _anything_ about Buffy, you’d know that would only make her more bloody hellbent on getting in.” Spike was about to charge forward and shake the information they wanted out of the wanker, when Ilona’s fingers curled around his forearm, her first interference since they’d walked in.

“The Immortal would never wish ill for or upon his lovers,” she began to assure, but at mention of hearing lovers and Immortal in the same sentence in reference to Buffy, Spike jerked away.

“Where we come from,” he snapped, “wishing of any kind is begging for trouble.”

This time when he tried to move, Angel was the one to block his path, a meaty hand clapped firmly on Spike’s shoulder while he positioned himself between them. “If she’s resting, what do you need Wolfram and Hart for?” Angel asked.

The Immortal’s head ducked in an embarrassed nod. “My attempts to lessen your distress have made my situation unclear. Buffy is unconscious. I have not been able to wake her.”

Angel and Spike exchanged a knowing glance. It didn’t take a genius to figure out her consciousness was stuck in the other dimension.

Looking around to the cluttered walls, Spike asked, “Which one did the damage?”

“This one.”

The Immortal turned and picked up a small mantle clock with a cracked face. Spike’s nose twitched at the scent of dust and blood that clung to its ornate design, but something about the scent made him frown, an air of familiarity that had him asking to look at it more closely before he could think to keep his mouth shut.

For a moment, the Immortal regarded him, then shrugged before passing it over. “It is not her blood,” he said. “Other than her sleep, Buffy has not been harmed in any way.”

But Spike already knew it wasn’t Buffy’s. It was another smell from days gone by, evocative of more than simply Sunnydale, that had him sniffing.

Angel frowned. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer, turning the clock around in his hands to look at its time. Three-seventeen. “How do you know when this is supposed to be?” he asked.

The Immortal took it back and flipped it over. On the bottom was a small engraving. Spike and Angel craned their necks in order to be able to read it.

“That was Buffy’s freshman year,” Angel said. He thought for a moment. “It would’ve been some time around Thanksgiving.”

Spike scowled. His memories of that particular period were never pleasant, but it also confirmed for him what had first attracted his attention. “And that’s Rupert’s clock. Which means this probably has something to do with him. If we can’t figure out how to wake her up, we’re goin’ to have to call him.” Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he glared at the Immortal. “No more ditching the issue. Take us to Buffy.”

* * *

He argued with her for ten minutes before finally caving on the issue of Giles. “It’s not goin’ to be what you expect,” Spike warned. “Things are different here.”

“Gee,” Buffy said, looking pointedly around the room, “you think?”

“More than that.” Opening the door, he looked up and down the hall before nodding for her to follow him out. “And you’re goin’ to need me to translate, so no point in telling him anything you don’t want me to know.”

Alarm drew her to a halt. “Translate? Has he had an accident of some kind? Like…” She grimaced at the image. “…get his tongue cut out?”

Spike looked at her like she was crazy. “Don’t be daft. He’s just a Fyarl demon. And unless you’ve grown a few extra brain cells in your world, I’m goin’ to wager you’re not big on demon languages.”

A Fyarl demon. She’d worked it out by the time they reached Giles’ room. In her world, Spike had been the one to help Giles find Ethan Rayne, but if Spike had been captured by the Initiative at that time here, Giles would have been on his own. Buffy wondered if he even knew that Ethan Rayne was the one behind his transformation, but then realized that if he had, he wouldn’t still be a demon.

She rubbed her eyes. All of this was starting to give her a headache.

Seeing Spike knock and wait to be allowed in wasn’t quite as weird as hearing answering growls from within, especially knowing who they belonged to. At his instruction, she hung back, letting him enter first as a stream of what she had to assume was Fyarl issued from his throat.

A dark shadow prevented them from going further. When Buffy lifted her head to meet Giles’ demon gaze, some of the anxiety at seeing him in this form disappeared. She remembered this. She could still see the Watcher in his eyes.

When nobody moved or said a word for over a minute, Spike nudged her with his elbow. “He still understands English,” he said with a raised brow. “Just lacks the human tongue to speak it.”

“Oh. Yeah. I knew that.” Buffy smiled and gave Giles a little wave. “Hi. Guess who’s back from the dead again?”

She didn’t need a translator to hear the disapproval in Giles’ voice as he whipped his head around and growled something at Spike.

“It was a joke,” she rushed to clarify. “OK, not a good one, considering the circumstances, but it’s still me, Giles. An older, better dressed, saved the world a few more times since Adam me.”

Giles growled again, still sounding pissed off. Buffy was beginning to think that was the natural intonation for Fyarls.

“Tara says so,” Spike replied to whatever Giles had said. “’Course, then she scarpered off, so what she might’ve found out remains to be seen.” Another brief exchange, ending with a noncommittal Spike shrug. “Maybe.”

“This is going to get old real fast,” Buffy said. “Can we just cut to the whole killing Adam part of the conversation and save the doubts and questions for afterward?”

Grunts of shock and surprise sounded the same in any language apparently.

“Yeah,” Spike said. “She claims to have offed the wanker years ago. Ripped out his…” He looked to Buffy for confirmation. “…power source?”

She nodded. “That’s all there is to it. Of course, it’s in the middle of his chest, which means punching through all that armor, not to mention getting close enough to make the hit in the first place. So not with the easy, even with all the mojo, and it took me forever to get my nails looking halfway decent again…” Her voice trailed off when she noticed Giles staring at her. It almost looked like he was smiling, which, with the demon face and horns, was way too creepy. “What?”

His growled response was accompanied by a retreat back into the room, allowing her to stop hovering in the doorway and follow Spike inside. It was decorated much like Spike and Tara’s quarters, but when she saw the women’s clothes hanging on the rail, Buffy quickly flushed and averted her eyes. Giles with a woman was wiggy enough when he was human; Fyarl Giles with a woman was…

She swallowed hard. If she shuddered in disgust, both men/demons would know it.

There was another exchange between them that diverted her attention back to the situation at hand.

“Last I knew, Tara’s of the mind it can be done,” Spike was saying. At Buffy’s quizzical frown, he clarified. “Sending you back to your own dimension.”

She hadn’t realized they were talking about that and said so. “Not that I’m against figuring it out,” she ended. “But I can’t help you with Adam if I’m not here, now can I?”

The slow tilt of his head made her stomach flip-flop almost as much as the soft calculation in Spike’s eyes. “No,” he agreed softly. “Reckon you can’t.” Nodding for her to sit at the lone table in the room, he straddled the other chair while Giles grabbed a notebook and a very, very fat pencil. “Let’s get to work then, shall we?”

* * *

It shouldn’t have felt right, sitting there with a Spike who hated her and a Giles who had lived the past four years as a demon, going over munitions and floorplans and ideas on how to get a half-breed monster away from his army long enough in order to rip out his so-called heart. But it did. Buffy wasn’t even bothered by the claw marks in the tabletop from where Giles’ fingers caught on the wood as he scribbled away with his pencil. At least she understood why it was so fat now. His clumsier hands would never have managed anything slimmer.

What made it even more fascinating was watching Spike and Giles interact. Dawn had always claimed they’d gotten along that summer she had been dead, but Buffy had only ever witnessed the aftermath, when everybody had been done with Spike in spite of the fact that he’d helped them so long and then later, when the First had triggered him for all kinds of badness. Even after Sunnydale’s fall, any mention of Spike brought a tightening around Giles’ mouth, like he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything. Buffy had stopped talking about him at all when she dealt with anybody but Willow and Dawn. They were the only two who would listen to her without judging.

But these two…

Time and circumstances had made them friends. Though she could only understand one side of the conversation, Buffy could still hear Spike’s laughter, and she could still see the twinkle in Giles’ eyes every once in awhile. In her absence, her friends had grown closer, achieving an ease that they had never found with her continued presence.

It was bittersweet to say the least.

It was some time while they were finalizing weapons that she heard the soft chime. Glancing up from the notebook, Buffy saw the clock sitting on a nearby shelf, automatically noting the late hour. It was only as she was turning back to the planning that she realized she recognized it.

Her head snapped up so sharply that Spike stopped talking in mid-sentence.

“What is it?” he asked, a small line between his brows.

“That clock.” Rising from her chair, Buffy skirted the table to go to the shelf, aware of both men shifting in their seats to watch her path. Though it was missing the dust ground into the carved whorls and the faceplate was smooth and uncracked, there was no way it wasn’t the same clock she had touched at Paolo’s. She started to reach for it, but then stopped, remembering the events that had led to her showing up in this dimension in the first place.

“Is this yours?” she asked Giles.

He nodded and growled, though the explanation that ensued sounded way too long to her to be a simple yes.

“It was one of the few things we could salvage from his flat,” Spike explained. “After Adam killed you---the other Buffy, I mean---and the lot of us escaped from the Initiative cages, me and him holed up there until the half-breeds started routing everybody. We grabbed what we could and ran.” He glanced at Giles when he growled again. “It’s a family heirloom, apparently.”

“Paolo had this in Rome. This is why I’m here.” She told the story of waiting for her date, watching Spike’s countenance grow darker and darker. By the time she reached the point of passing out, he was up and pacing the far end of the room.

“What’s wrong?” she asked when she was done.

Spike ground to a halt and glared at her. “The bloody _Immortal_?” he spat. “ _That’s_ the boyfriend who’s taking such good care of you? Do you have _any_ concept of evil any more, Slayer?”

His possessive attitude threw her off her game. “His name is Paolo,” she said, her temper rising as she stood and marched to stand in front of him. “And he’s not evil. He’s more…roguishly bad. Kind of like Rhett Butler except with better teeth.”

Spike snorted, rolling his eyes. “Considering your taste in kissing partners, I’m not so sure why his dental records rate so high on your dateworthy criteria.”

“Hey!” She poked him in the chest, hard enough to make him stumble back. “Who I kiss and who I date are none of your business! You don’t even like me, remember?”

He came at her as fast as she pushed him away. “If he’s so bloody wonderful, why is it you still dream about me? That’s what you said. Least once a week, creeping into your head, into your thoughts.” Grabbing her hip, Spike yanked her against him, grinding their hips together. “Bet you get off thinking of me, too. Stick your hands between your legs and fuck your---.”

She kissed him. It was the only way to get Spike to shut up that didn’t involve hitting him. Because Buffy didn’t do that any more. She’d made that promise to herself a long time ago.

For a second, she thought it worked. His cock twitched against her, coming to life as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hip. A rumble deep inside his chest made his body reverberate, made hers vibrate in kind, and she had just started to melt against his hard chest when Spike ripped his mouth away, shoving her away at the same time.

“No,” he said, his face contorting in anger. He jabbed a finger at her, eyes flashing with gold sparks. “You don’t get to bloody do that, Slayer. I’m not your pet vamp, whipped into shape by the call of your quim, understand? You said it yourself. I’m not him.”

Before she could stop him, he pushed past her, knocking her out of the way as he nearly ripped the door from its hinges and stormed out. Buffy shot one apologetic glance at Giles, then bolted after Spike, determined to get these differences hashed out once and for all.

She collided with a body much softer than the one she expected.

Gentle hands kept her from stumbling. But just as quickly as they righted Buffy, they disappeared, and she heard a sharp intake of breath before she lifted her head to apologize.

She froze. Two women stood in front of her, two women whose funerals she had attended in her own dimension. At least Tara wasn’t a shock to see.

“Buffy…?” a stricken Joyce murmured.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: The Immortal explained about the significance of the clocks, while Buffy discovered that Giles was a Fyarl demon and her mother was still alive...

There had been that moment outside, when she had first spotted Tara, that Buffy had had the thoughts about the possibility of her mother being alive in this world. But she’d given them no credence, dismissing them when she learned the truth about what had actually happened.

Even so, it did nothing to buffer seeing Joyce Summers standing in front of her, very much alive, very much looking as shocked to be confronted with her as Buffy was about her mom.

Her hair was shorter, thick waves starting to overtake what had probably been a very cute pixie cut at one time. Fresh lines were around her eyes, and the ones Buffy remembered being there before were deeper, etched into shadowed grooves that testified to the horrors she’d had to face. But it was the stunned pain in them that was hardest to witness. It took several frozen seconds for Buffy to remember this Joyce had lost her daughter almost as long ago as she had lost her mother; they were both seeing ghosts.

The spell was broken when Joyce tried to reach out to her.

“Buffy?” she whispered again.

The moment she felt the fingertips on her cheek, Buffy turned on her heel and ran.

The sting of rushing air and tears from nowhere made her only half-aware of the commotion her flight caused behind her. Someone called out her name, or maybe it was a lot of someones, but Buffy didn’t stop, didn’t care, didn’t want to go back and face this particular specter from her past. It was one thing to see Tara and Spike walking around as if they hadn’t been torn from her life. While she loved both of them, they had only been around for a small portion of it.

This was her _mother_. The woman who had been there for all of it, beaten back vampires with axes and held her close when her father cancelled yet another date and smiled at every lame gift Buffy had ever given her, including the ashtray she had made at summer camp when she was seven when neither of her parents even smoked.

It was too much. She had no choice but to run or risk losing it altogether.

Doors opened as she fled past, and people emerged, and more than once Buffy knocked someone down in her haste to get as far, far away from all of it as she could. But while she knew the upper part of the school like the back of her hand, the basement was a chaotic catacomb she couldn’t navigate. Too soon, she was lost in a dark corner, huddled against the cold brick wall, trying to forget everything that had happened in the past few hours, wishing that she had never gone exploring in Paolo’s house in the first place.

Wishing for anything, really, anything that wasn’t here and now and populated with faces she had never dared hope to see again.

The footsteps seemed to take forever to approach. Buffy continued to stare into the darkness, trying to block out the look in her mother’s eyes at seeing her. She only looked up when she heard the muttered swearing.

She couldn’t see Spike, but she could still hear him. His low cursing had switched to arguing, Tara’s soft tones answering each of his statements. When neither came into view, Buffy rolled her eyes and pushed off the wall to stand up again.

“Do you have any idea how annoying that is?” she complained. She followed the hall around the corner and almost immediately ran into the pair, stopping just in time to see Spike grab Tara and pull her back out of the way. Her eyes flickered to Spike, who looked less than pleased to be there. “Guess it doesn’t matter if it’s Tara who has the leash, huh?” she said, more than a twinge of bitterness leaking into her voice.

His furious scowl and lunge forward was stopped by Tara’s hand to his chest. “Don’t,” she said softly.

For the first time, Buffy thought Spike was going to ignore Tara’s gentle presence. Everything about him was ready for battle, down to the flashing in his eyes, and she wondered if he was even aware of how tense he really was, coiled so tight that she was sure he would snap without a natural release. Maybe a fight wouldn’t be remiss after all, even if their fights had a tendency to lead to other, more satisfying, physical activities.

His mouth opened to argue further, but Spike froze, nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly before he growled and whirled around to stomp off through the maze. It wasn’t until after he was gone that Buffy realized her train of thought had made its stamp on her body, and that Spike, as was ending up being the norm, had picked up on it. Again.

“I’m sorry,” Tara said, turning back to face her. “He’s---.”

“---Spike. I know.”

Beyond the shock of seeing her mother alive and well, Buffy noticed for the first time how swollen Tara’s face was, cheeks blotchy and eyes tiny from the force of crying. She seemed composed now, but the question of what could have set her off in the first place lingered in the back of Buffy’s brain.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like that,” Tara explained. Her voice was low, meant to be soothing. “And I warned Joyce that you were here, but…I guess the part where she actually saw you was a little more intense than we thought it would be. For both of you.”

“That’s an understatement,” Buffy muttered. She frowned. “How did you know it would bother me?”

A slow flush crept up Tara’s neck. “The meditation spell. When I was under, I…saw what your life had been like. That your mother had died. What happened with you and…” She swallowed. “Spike.”

“Oh.” The greater implications of what Tara had seen made Buffy’s eyes widen. “Oh!” No wonder she’d run off upset. Between Willow’s turn to black magic and Spike’s death, not to mention Tara’s own, it made perfect sense that she would need space from Buffy.

“It was just hard,” Tara was saying. “Because I know Spike, and I know what he can do, but I never…I didn’t…it’s different _experiencing_ it like that. Your dimension had so much pain in it. And then seeing him sacrifice himself…?” A shudder wracked her body, and she stepped back, taking a deep breath to calm down.

“But he did it to save the world,” Buffy said softly. “Knowing that makes it easier. Trust me.”

The two women regarded each other in silence. The familiar compassion in Tara’s eyes was almost as hard to take as seeing her mother in the flesh again.

“You love him.”

It was such a simple statement. The last time Buffy had heard equivalent words from her friend, it had been a wary question, a gentle probe to try and understand why she was so upset. It had torn her apart to even consider that she was so wrong, that she was twisted enough inside to have feelings for Spike, and her subsequent denials had been as much about her as him. But what struck Buffy even more strongly now was that she hadn’t heard anybody else utter those words to her since. Not one person had made that realization out loud after the fall of Sunnydale. It was actually a relief to hear it.

“Yeah,” Buffy conceded. “I do.” She shook her head, a sad smile twisting her mouth. “Seeing him like this has been both the best and worst thing that’s happened to me since he died.”

Tara nodded in sympathy, but then her eyes widened with alarm. “Spike and I aren’t together, you know,” she rushed to say. “I know it looks that way, and since you saw Giles, he probably filled you in on how things work around here, but Spike and I are just friends. Best friends, if you can believe it. Nothing sexual.”

“I can. And I know. He was very quick to remind me of the whole lesbian thing.”

Glancing back over her shoulder, Tara chewed at her lip before speaking. “Did you…want to go back and talk to them?” she asked. “Spike and your mom, I mean. I know Joyce would love to hear what your life is like, and if Spike knew---.”

“No. Spike doesn’t find out.” Buffy took a deep breath, calming the sharp edge to her voice. “I’m the one who’s responsible for the way things are here, and this Spike hates me for that. I’m not going to be the one to make things even more awkward by letting him find out that what I feel for him is more than physical. That’s a mess nobody wants.”

“More than…did something happen between you two? After I ran out?” The guilty slide of Buffy’s eyes was the only answer Tara needed, but instead of recriminations, Tara merely nodded. “That would explain why he didn’t want to help me find you then. Just…be careful with him, will you? Until we figure out how to get you back? He’s not as big and bad as he wants everybody to believe.” She flushed. “But then you knew that.”

As the two women began to navigate back to the main quarters, Buffy stayed silent while Tara started talking about the different magical possibilities that could have brought her to this dimension. Most of it went over her head anyway, but her thoughts were too distracted with images of her mom and Spike and Fyarl Giles and everything else to keep the details straight.

The only thing she knew was that she was going to do everything she could to try and make things better for these people before she left. She owed them that, at the very least.

* * *

It made his fangs itch to see the wanker fawning over the unconscious Slayer, but with Angel just as wound up next to him and Ilona standing between them and the bed, Spike knew he would have to wait another day to get his hands around the Immortal’s neck. This was the git’s fault, even if he claimed Buffy was the one to break the bonds that had kept her out of the room. None of this would have happened in the first place if he only collected something a bit more normal for demons, like bloodied hearts or Kurosawa memorabilia.

As for Buffy, the Immortal had been right about one thing. To anybody without enhanced senses, she could have been sleeping.

Spike and Angel knew the truth, though. They could smell the temperature raging through her body, could hear the accelerated pump of her heart. This wasn’t a normal sleep, even if she looked beyond beautiful lying on the bed. This was going to need something a bit more effective than tossing water over her head or jumping on the end of the bed to wake her.

The Immortal finally straightened to regard his guests. “I have exhausted what I can do for her,” he said. “Now I will need Wolfram and Hart’s resources to find the means to bring her back to me.”

Spike’s nails dug into his palms, drawing blood from how tightly he clenched his fists. “Thought we knew that an hour ago,” he growled.

“I will send the best of our shamans---,” Ilona started.

“No.” The single word was a bark in the warm room, and all eyes turned to Angel. “Spike and I are taking Buffy with us.”

The Immortal smiled. From the distinct lack of warmth in his eyes, though, Spike thought it was one of those automatic gestures for the bastard when really, he wanted to do something far worse. “I am afraid I cannot allow that,” he said. “Buffy will stay here.”

“And I’m afraid you don’t know who you’re dealing with.” Angel took a menacing step forward, only to be stopped by the full force of Ilona’s breasts pressed up against him.

“He knows not how we do such things here in Rome,” she shot back over her shoulder to the Immortal. When she returned her gaze to Angel, Spike could see the warning glints in her dark eyes. “Angelus, of all people, understands there are ways to accomplish what needs to be done. _Procedures_ to be followed.”

“Sod your bloody procedures,” Spike complained, pushing forward to flank Angel. “This is _Buffy_. We’re not leaving here without her, even if it means testing just how immortal the Immortal really is.”

“An interesting endeavor, to be sure,” the Immortal replied. Nothing about him moved, not even a hair on his head, but Spike could’ve sworn he was taut for a fight. “But Ilona is correct. And as CEO of Los Angeles, I am certain Angelus knows this.”

Spike waited for Angel to intercede and argue, but the debate never came. When he glanced up at the other vampire, all he could see was the drawn brow in profile as Angel glared at the Immortal.

“It’s going to happen like this,” Angel finally said. “Ilona and I will go back to the Wolfram and Hart office to start the shamans on the job of waking Buffy---.

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding!”

“---while Spike stays here to be my eyes and ears. You’ll give him full access to whatever he wants, or neither one of us are going anywhere.”

The codicil had Spike snapping to attention. He caught the fury passing over the Immortal’s face before the mask fell back into place, but he also recognized the stubborn set of Angel’s jaw. He meant what he’d said. It was going to be the only way he’d willingly walk out the door.

“Don’t think this is because I think she’s going to pick you,” Angel muttered without moving his head. “It’s because I know you won’t let anything happen to her and Ilona’s right. I can’t stay.”

Spike’s lips twitched. It was as close to an admission of what he and Buffy had had that Angel would ever make. It must have burned for the old man to get it out.

“This is not acceptable,” the Immortal was saying. While his tone was smooth, there was an underlying anger that made Spike’s skin crawl. How the birds kept falling for the prat, he would never know. “This is my home, and Buffy---.”

“---is our friend,” Angel finished. “And no offense, but considering our own personal history, the only person I trust around her right now is Spike, which believe me, says a lot.” He folded his arms across his chest. “He stays.”

He had to give it to Angel. Sometimes that incessant need to throw his weight around definitely worked in their favor.

Looking from the vampires to Buffy and back again, the Immortal finally sighed and waved his hand in dismissal. “He stays,” he agreed. “Now go. Do what you can. I do not pay Wolfram and Hart as much money as I do to have them treat my emergencies as less than such.”

Spike half-expected Ilona to fall out of her dress with as quickly as she moved, but Angel was slower to turn away. “You have my permission to kill him if he even looks at Buffy wrong,” he murmured as he brushed past Spike. “Make it hurt.”

With that, they were gone, leaving Spike, the Immortal, and a sleeping Slayer all waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Tara calmed Buffy down, while Angel had no choice but to go back to W&H with Ilona to try and solve the problem of waking Buffy, leaving Spike with The Immortal...

With every step closer to where she had run into her mother, Buffy’s pace slowed. Tara matched without comment, though more than once, she cast a sideways glance that left no doubt she was aware of Buffy’s reluctance.

“You don’t have to do this right now, you know,” she said out of the blue. “Or ever, even. Joyce will understand, and…maybe it’s better if you get some sleep anyway.”

“No, no sleep.” The idea of postponing a confrontation with her mother, however, sounded like a terrific idea. It was just a case of too much, too soon, and she said so out loud. “Can you tell me one thing, though?” Buffy asked, pulling Tara to a halt. “How is it possible she’s still alive here? She had a brain tumor, and then the embolism. She died of natural causes. How could Spike have prevented that?”

“He didn’t,” came the response. “And she did have the tumor. It even got operated on.”

“But…?”

Tara’s hands fluttered to her hair, twisting a strand’s ends between her fingers. “Our facilities for anything that serious are really limited,” she admitted. “Even with the doctors we had, her odds were bad from the start. So when Giles heard Adam had captured a Mohra demon, he went out to bring it here. Spike actually tried to stop him. He said it was a suicide mission, but Giles beat him up and locked him in a weapons chest so that he wouldn’t get in the way.”

Buffy had never heard of a Mohra demon, but that wasn’t the detail her mind got stuck in. “Giles?” she questioned. “Why would he do that?”

“Because that was his promise when you died.” Tara’s smile was gentle. “He couldn’t protect you, so he swore he would protect Joyce. No matter what.”

Buffy only half-heard the subsequent explanation, something about regenerating blood and dying on the operating table and Giles accidentally tearing off the arm of one of the doctors when they wouldn’t let him near the body with the Mohra blood. She had been wigged about the thought of Giles with anyone, but knowing it was her mom? She was practically tucked away in her own bed back in Sunnydale, hearing her mother’s thoughts about what exactly had happened the night of the magicked band candy. The only difference this time was a boatload of experience and way extenuating circumstances to make it…simply weird.

Tara took her silence for what it was worth and stopped speaking, waiting for Buffy to re-gather her thoughts. “So what do you want to do?” she eventually asked.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy looked down the deserted hall, listening to the soft sounds of life around them. “I need to think,” she said. “And I don’t do that so good if I’m cooped up. Can you show me how to get in and out of here so that I can go take a walk? Maybe some fresh air will make this better.”

“I can’t let you do that.” When Buffy’s attention snapped back, Tara flushed in embarrassment, though she didn’t back off. “This isn’t the Sunnydale you remember,” she explained. “You have no idea where the hotspots are, or how Adam’s army patrols.”

“I’m the _Slayer_ ,” she replied, enunciating each word slowly as if speaking to a child. “I can handle a few demons.”

“Not like this. They’re very organized. There’s never a team of less than four, and they’re always heavily armed. You can’t go out. It’s just not safe.”

“I’ll take her.”

Spike’s voice from the shadows was more than an echo from the past. It was a reminder of how many times he’d been there for her, watched her back when nobody else would or could. Buffy was far slower than Tara to turn and watch him emerge from around the corner, probably because even now, it was hard to be surprised by his vow of support. She had forgotten how much she had actually missed that.

There was a fresh bruise on his temple, and the corner of his lower lip was split. When Tara rushed forward in concern, however, he brushed her off, his lashes ducked as he looked anywhere but at them. “It’s nothin’,” he grumped. “Stop your fussing.”

“What happened to not wanting anything to do with me?” Buffy asked. She kept her voice as neutral as possible, but there was still the lingering question of why he would change his mind so swiftly to resolve.

He drew his thumb across the cut, as if reminding himself it was there. “Got a refresher course from Rupert on what it means to be a team player. Then he stuck Joyce on me. Not much more I can do except promise to keep an eye on you ‘til you get safe back to your own world. That means makin’ sure none of the baddies take a bite of you, as pleasant as that notion sounds.”

Her eyes widened. “Giles hit you?”

Spike snorted. “He thumps because he loves, Slayer.”

“No, he thumps because you argue,” Tara interjected.

“Regardless, he’s a bloody Fyarl demon now. Or have you forgotten that little detail already?”

Any momentary concern faded in light of what Spike’s offer really meant. It would be an opportunity for them to talk again, clear the air of the tension, because even if this wasn’t the Spike she had known, she hated the idea of any incarnation hating her so much. Maybe they could even find a good fight. Buffy mused on whether this Spike would follow her moves as well as hers had.

Tara, on the other hand, still looked doubtful. “The teams are in full force tonight,” she said. “You know that. We barely got away. It’s not safe, even for you.”

Spike smirked. “Got a Slayer to watch my back. How can I go wrong?”

“You know---,” she started, and then stopped, guilty eyes flickering back to Buffy. It was enough to make her wonder what other secrets rested in their history, but now was not the time to pursue the matter.

“We won’t be long,” Buffy promised. “I just need some time to clear my head. Maybe we can work on the plan to get to Adam at the same time.”

Scooping an arm around Tara’s waist, Spike tugged her against his side, brushing a kiss across her temple. “I’ll keep close,” he murmured. “Not about to lose my head now, not when there’s finally a light at the end of the bloody tunnel.”

Nodding, Tara began to hug him back and then stiffened, glancing over at Buffy. Though she knew why the embrace grew awkward, it was hard to feel guilty about coming between them. Tara understood how difficult everything was for her, Buffy reasoned. She was simply controlling the one thing that could ease it.

“C’mon, Slayer.” His tone was back to business, his muscles taut in readiness. “Let’s get suited up. The sooner we get out, the sooner we get back.” Spike lifted his eyes to hers for the first time since returning, and her stomach skipped right past the flipping and went straight to flopping as she saw the belligerent dare gleaming in them. “The happier we’ll all be.”

* * *

The Immortal took the chair at Buffy’s side without a word or glance back at his guest, leaving Spike to approach the opposite side with a wary prowl. “Know it’s over, don’t you?” he commented, adopting his most casual tone. “Between you and Buffy. When we get her up and about again, soon as she susses out why it is she was out in the first place, she’ll drop you faster than you can fix your hair.”

The Immortal shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the bed. “We shall see. Buffy…she can be shown the error of her ways, I think.”

The sheer ridiculousness of the statement had Spike laughing. It wasn’t merely a snort or a chuckle. His sides actually started to hurt by the time the giggles began to ease. He hadn’t laughed that hard since he’d first spied Angel as a puppet.

The Immortal wasn’t nearly as amused, eyes narrowing to slits as he finally shifted his concentration. “I am not accustomed to such responses,” he said. “You and Angelus…you do not seem to appreciate what I have to offer. Not like Buffy.”

That was all it took to sober Spike up. “The fact that you can sit there and say with a straight face she’s not goin’ to be brassed as hell at this is all I need to know you don’t know the first thing about her,” he growled. “And if Angel and I don’t appreciate the fact that you’ve managed to turn our Slayer into a sleeping Buffy, it’s because we know firsthand the way you work. You’re not goin’ to pull the wool over these eyes, not this time.”

“You keep speaking of this…past we share. I’m afraid the details escape me. Did I…” He rolled his hand as if plucking the first, most absurd suggestion out of the air to make. “…sleep with your woman perhaps? Because I have never taken an unwilling lover. I have no need to. Even Buffy was most eager for my affections.” He smiled. “Eventually.”

Spike’s hands curled into fists in his pockets. _I’m not goin’ to hit him, I’m not goin’ to hit him, I’m not goin’ to---why the bloody hell_ can’t _I hit him?_

He dove over the bed, clearing the mattress without disturbing Buffy. But before he could slam into the other man, something electric sizzled through Spike’s body and sent him flying sideways, barely missing the wooden post at the foot and crashing him into the wall next to the closed door. He slumped to the floor with his ears ringing and blood trickling from his nose.

The Immortal never blinked. “Surely you know I cannot be harmed in my own home,” he said. Spike could’ve sworn the bastard was smiling, if not on the outside then most definitely on the in. “Especially by… _unwanted_ guests.”

He staggered to his feet, wiping away the blood and sucking it off his thumb. It made sense that the sanctuary spell he’d heard Lorne talk about with his old club was used elsewhere. And the Immortal was notorious for hiding away, letting other people fight his battles for him. It was yet another reason why Spike loathed the man so. Deep down, he knew the wanker to be a coward.

The door flew open, the housekeeper poised on the threshold with a heaving bosom. “There was…an alarm,” she panted in explanation for her abrupt entrance.

The Immortal shook his head. “It was nothing. A simple misunderstanding. Our guest and I have come to an agreement…” His eyes bored into Spike’s. “…have we not?”

What was he going to do? Say no? Well, the thought was appealing, but without being able to lay a finger on him, Spike knew he had to play nice. He was simply disappointed he wouldn’t be able to take advantage of Angel’s proposition of hurting the Immortal if he looked at Buffy wrong.

With a glare, Spike grabbed the only other chair in the room and hauled it back to his original spot next to the bed, sitting down with his arms folded over his chest and his boots propped up on the mattress. “So what do you have to eat around here?” he said, his voice too loud. “I’m peckish.”

* * *

He had to wait until Ilona left him alone to attend to an uproar that had occurred while she had been out, some black mass ritual that had gone awry and deformed the priest in charge. But as soon as Angel could do so without an audience, he whipped out his phone and punched in the international number.

He didn’t let Wesley finish his greeting before speaking. “I’ve got a problem I need you to make your top priority,” he ordered. Briefly, he described Buffy’s situation, glossing over the personal details about her and the Immortal and omitting the specifics of his decision to leave Spike behind. He hadn’t had a choice, Angel kept telling himself. Someone needed to watch Buffy, and if nothing else, Spike never let a woman down on his watch.

“Those are very specialized magics,” Wesley commented when he was done. “I can’t imagine there are many practitioners who would be capable of creating such talismans.”

“Can you make a list and cross-reference it with the Immortal?” Angel asked. “I like Ilona, but something tells me she’s not exactly the most unbiased party in this. I can’t trust that she’s going to give me whatever I ask for.”

“Of course.” The sound of his pen scratching across paper came through the line, making Angel almost smile at the familiarity. Wolfram and Hart had all the technical gizmos in the world at their disposal, and good old Wes still took all his notes by hand. “That should only take me a couple of hours to determine. I’ll ring as soon as I have anything useful.” He paused. “Not that I don’t believe you’ve already considered this, but what are you going to tell the Council? If Buffy’s condition continues unchecked, there will be questions raised. I’m certain her sister---.”

“It’s not going to get that far.” Memories of Giles’ brusque tone when he had tried to get help for Fred made Angel’s grip tighten around his phone. “And if for some reason, Buffy isn’t awake by morning, I’ll send Spike to take care of Dawn.” His voice grew bitter. “She always liked him more than me.”

Wesley’s quiet agreement faded when Angel disconnected the call. He sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t have to rely on his own team’s input on this, but Ilona’s behavior around the Immortal had him doubting her loyalties. Plus, there was always the fact that she was the head of a Wolfram and Hart branch. Not everybody was going to have the same motivations for taking that position as he had.

Even if he would be forced to live with the fact that the others were now all too aware of exactly why he had made the choice he had.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy decided she needed to get out for awhile, and Spike agreed to accompany her. Back in Rome, Angel called in Wesley's help to try and save Buffy...

The night had cooled considerably in the few hours she’d been beneath the high school. No more stars speckled the sleek sky, ebony stretching to and beyond the horizon, and silence blanketed Sunnydale as assuredly as a down comforter in the thick of winter. There wasn’t even a whisper of wind to break the stillness. Buffy’s discomfort with the sound of her shoes against the concrete increased with every step.

Spike didn’t speak. He moved like a wraith at her side, the only sound coming from the snick of his lighter when he lit a cigarette upon first emerging from the school. Every time she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, his attention was shifted elsewhere, always moving, drinking in their surroundings with the mien of an animal accustomed to being hunted. She wished he would say something. Yell at her. Taunt her. Anything. Nothing was as bad as his self-imposed silence. Spike not speaking to her meant she wasn’t worth the expended effort.

It wasn’t unexpected, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.

She had thought he would keep her to populated areas, but the first thing Spike did was veer away from downtown and head toward the industrial park near Willy’s. He didn’t take a straight path, either. There were turns and jogs down narrow streets that could only be an indication of the army patrols Tara had mentioned; her respect for Spike and the population he helped protect grew with every step. Could she have lived like this if she hadn’t died? she wondered. Could she live like this now if they couldn’t find a way for her to get home?

She dismissed the latter quickly. If Tara and Fyarl Giles couldn’t find the means to do it, Buffy had no doubt that Paolo and her Giles would. Paolo wouldn’t keep such dangerous things lying around his house without having some sort of safeguard. With as many resources he had at his command, it was even likely he could get her home again before the answer was ever found here.

When Spike took another unexpected turn, guiding her away from a density of warehouses, Buffy frowned, glancing back at the empty streets behind them. “Where exactly are we going?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her. “Believe the answer to that is nowhere. You said you wanted to walk.” He shrugged, gesturing vaguely around them. “We’re walking. If you’re ready to go back, just say the word.”

“No, not ready. I guess I was hoping we’d find a fight. Where are all those demon half-breeds when you want one?”

She said it jokingly, but it made Spike halt in his tracks. “Are you off your nut?” he demanded. “Or still suicidal? Because I’ve about given up tryin’ to suss you out, Slayer.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and kept going. “Oh, please. You’ve made it Swarovski clear that you don’t care one way or another. I mean, you’re only here now because my mom and Giles made you promise to keep an eye on me. Like I really need a vamp-sitter.”

“With as daft as you’re bein’, wanting to find a fight? You need one.” Before she could take more than a few more steps, his hand curled around her bicep and jerked her to a halt. “Not that way, you dozy cow. You’ll get us both killed.”

“How?” Buffy looked around at the deserted neighborhood, her voice echoing between the far walls. “There’s nobody here. You did your job, Spike. I’m perfectly safe, and one hundred percent bored.”

His nostrils flared from his rising temper, but in spite of his words, he didn’t loosen his grip. “Never signed up to be the onboard entertainment. You want excitement, go toddle off downtown or find a nice cemetery to play in. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of Adam’s boys willing to take you up for a bit of rough and tumble.” He leered, letting his dark gaze flicker over her. “I hear tell, they like it better if the girl puts up a fuss. Gets ‘em all hard when the bird fights back, makes ‘em go at her even stronger.” Fury glinted in his eyes. “So do me a favor, Slayer. Just say no.”

She was getting tired of his taunts, but this was downright too far. His final words had memories echoing inside her skull, bouncing around like shouts off tiled walls. In spite of her better intentions, Buffy’s fist shot out and slammed into Spike’s jaw, sending him staggering backward as images of that night in the bathroom – images she had thought long buried – made bile rise in the back of her throat. Immediate alarm at her actions made her pull back, but not before Spike vamped out, snarling in bitter anger.

He leapt at her on instinct, and the sharp crack of her head hitting the concrete as they both tangled to the ground made Buffy cry out loud. Her elbow shot back, cuffing Spike hard enough for her to break free, but when she whirled to face him again, the world slightly spinny around her from the blow to her temple, he was still crouching on the road where she had left him.

The ridges smoothed from his brow, leaving blue eyes staring up at her in confusion. “I hurt you.”

Buffy rubbed at her head, grimacing when she felt the new knot forming. All these bumps were going to leave her brain damaged, she was sure of it. “Don’t worry,” she said grumpily. “I won’t tell Mom or Giles. Your rep as vampire savior will remain intact.”

But he was still staring at her, only now he had lifted his hand to his head in mimicry of her. “The chip,” Spike said. “I _hurt_ you.”

It was the only explanation for the abrupt shift in his behavior she needed.

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Oh.” Damn it, she had been hoping to avoid this topic. It was likely Tara knew the truth, had seen it in her hop, skip, and a jump through Buffy’s brain, but for some reason, Buffy knew she would never have said a word about it. Not that it mattered now.

Seeing the look on her face had Spike leaping to his feet. “What the hell is this?” he demanded, stalking toward her. His voice was just as loud as hers had been, bouncing between buildings to boom even more in her ears. Without warning, his hand shot out and shoved her, his other going experimentally to his temple in anticipation of the pain that she knew would never come.

“Surprise,” Buffy said with a weak smile. When Spike growled, she automatically took a step backward. “It’s not a big deal,” she added hastily. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him, but she wasn’t so wrapped up in this one’s similarity to her Spike that she didn’t recognize the potential danger of his anger. “The chip hasn’t worked on me since Willow brought me back from the dead this last time. Something about a deep tropical cellular tan, Tara said. It still works like it always did, just not on me. _Not_ a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” His eyes were flashing as he began to prowl around her, still out of arm’s reach, but with his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. “You haven’t been chained up like a dog for the past four years, wishing for just a second of what you know life should be like. You’ve got no bloody idea how much I hate this fucking chip, how much I hate the wankers for sticking it in my brain. So don’t tell me it’s not a big deal, Slayer. This is door number three here. Between this and finding out Adam’s not as invincible as we thought, this is turnin’ into a hell of a night.”

When his fist lashed out this time, Buffy saw it coming and deflected it easily. “What the hell are you doing?”

His lip curled into a sneer. “Looks like I’m picking a fight.”

He came at her with fists flying then, a flurry of anger that made his swings unpredictable and his kicks vicious. She took a hard jab to her left side before she was able to land a punch, a glancing blow to his nose that had blood spurting to speckle the ground. When she did a roundhouse that had him flat on his back, Buffy retreated out of his way as she glared at him.

“Stop this! I don’t want to fight you!”

Spike kipped to his feet. There was a feral laxity to his limbs, and the way he kept bouncing on his toes was starting to remind her of one of the jackhammers from Xander’s old construction site. She had never seen him like this, so hopped up on adrenaline. Another lick of fear began to ripple down her spine.

“So you’ll fuck me, but you won’t fight me?”

She couldn’t help but watch when he reached down and adjusted his erection in front of her, hard and clear beneath his jeans. Buffy rolled her eyes. At least that was something she could have predicted.

“I find that very hard to believe, Slayer,” Spike went on. He was circling her again, remaining out of her reach but close enough to keep her on alert. “Do you know what you smell like right now? Like bloody heaven. Your cunt all wet and juicy. All that lovely blood running through your veins, just waiting for someone to take a sip. Haven’t smelled anything as delicious in years, ‘specially since I know if I wanted, I could snap your neck and drain you dry.”

Buffy shook her head. “You wouldn’t.”

His jaw hardened. “I _would_.”

“My mom and Giles would never forgive you.”

Mention of his new “family” made Spike pause. “Could tell ‘em you got taken by the patrols,” he said warily. “Know exactly where to leave your body so that they’d never know the truth.”

“Except you’d be lying and we both know you suck at that.”

With a roar of frustration, Spike flew at Buffy and backhanded her with such vehemence that she was thrown face-first into a streetpost. The force knocked the wind out of her long enough for him to pin his body against hers, arms circling her waist to grip the pole and prevent her from easily escaping.

She heard him inhale deeply, knowing all too well what had caught his attention. Her eyes squeezed shut when he began to grind his arousal into her ass.

“This how it started then?” His mouth was at her ear, his voice the husky whisper that had always been one of her greater weaknesses. “Can see it now, plain as day. You said something to brass me off, I took a swing, realized I could hit you without the chip firing, and…”

Her throat worked convulsively to swallow down the lump in it. _He’s just messing with your head_ , she tried telling herself. _It’s all part of his games and manipulation. He only wants to get a rise._

But still, she didn’t move.

One of his hands left the pole to worm its way between her stomach and the cool iron. His palm was hard against her abdomen, his fingers determined as they slipped beneath the waistband of her jeans. Her head told her to fight him, but her body screamed otherwise, and Buffy gritted her teeth to try and block out the sensations.

“Do you dream of that night?” Spike asked. “When it’s dark and everyone in the world sleeps except for the Slayer and all the nasties you try and tell me you hate…do you remember?”

A whimper was strangled from her throat when his index finger brushed across the tip of her swollen clit. “No,” Buffy answered truthfully. “I don’t remember about then. I remember about after.”

His hand stilled, fingers poised along her outer lips, ready to explore further at only the slightest provocation. “What was after?”

There were so many potential answers to his question, but they all came back to only one. “After he came back from Africa. Where my Spike got his soul because he loved me.”

It as was if she’d scalded his hand with holy water.

Jerking free so violently that he popped the button on her jeans, Spike released his hold on Buffy and staggered away from her. By the time she turned to face him, the pole still at her back, his eyes were so dark with disbelief, shiny in the yellow light spilling from the streetlamp, that she had to struggle not to go to him and try to ease some of his fears away.

“You’re lying,” he rasped. He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “You take that back.”

Buffy shook her head. “I can’t take back what’s true,” she replied. “Maybe I’m not the only one who has to face some harsh realities tonight.”

“No.” His voice was growing more firm in its denial. “That was Angel’s gig. I would _never_ need a bloody soul.”

It struck her that what bothered Spike was not the revelation that his other self had loved a Slayer. He hadn’t even blinked at that particular part of her confession. It was the complete disregard for what a soul would do for him and his distaste for Angel’s that sparked this reaction. It wasn’t surprising. Until she realized how he had phrased his argument.

Before Buffy could question him, there was a shout off to their right. Spike’s head snapped up, his body back on the alert, eyes scanning the darkness. She could see nothing, but he obviously did, darting forward and grabbing her wrist as the sound of footsteps began to echo in the night.

“Over here!” a man shouted.

She didn’t have time to argue with Spike’s sense of direction, following his lead as they ran back the way they had come. Behind them, she heard the patrol start to give chase, but where Buffy and Spike had been able to outdistance the team at the graveyard when she had first entered this dimension, this patrol was definitely more capable, their pounding steps audible long after they left the industrial park. Her heart was thudding inside her ribcage, as much from exertion as her growing fear. They couldn’t lead the half-breeds back to the high school; she knew that much for certain. It was imperative to keep the others out of harm’s way. But could Spike get them far enough away from the patrol to be able to double back to safety?

He yanked her to a stop near the elementary school, pulling her into the shadows of a tall fence. “Something’s wrong,” he whispered. “That section of town should’ve been clear. But we’ll make a break for it across Restfield. There’s sewer access---.”

“I know where that is.” Provided the sewers were clear, they could use those to find a way back to the high school. There was no doubt in her mind that this Spike was even more well-versed on the underground tunnels than her Spike had been. It had the potential of being the perfect plan.

They broke off into another dead run at the same time, strides matching pace as they angled toward the walls of Restfield. There was renewed vigor in Buffy’s muscles, and in spite of her earlier spat with Spike, it felt good to have him at her side again, if only for the few minutes until they got to safety.

And god, she _really_ had to get home before this place completely wrecked any equilibrium she might have gained.

Spike was the first to vault over the wall, but when Buffy landed silently on the other side, she almost tripped over his unmoving form. He stood, staring into the cemetery, and his arm shot out to prevent her from going past him. Her eyes followed the same path his did, and the blood that had been surging through her veins frosted to a startling halt. And the surprises keep on coming.

“Hostile Seventeen.” Riley’s voice rumbled between them, his face in shadows from the poor light filtering from the street. She could see the demon skin grafted onto his forearm, though, the even stitches livid against the pale skin above his elbow. Glints reflected off the heavy weapon he cradled in his arms. “So good of you to join the party.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Other!Spike learned that his chip didn't work on Buffy, but their arguing got interrupted by a chase where they ended up cornered by Riley...

Angel was in the middle of poring through a book on interdimensional spells when the sight of Ilona’s breasts filled the uppermost half of his field of vision. Glancing up, he saw her leaning forward across the narrow table at which they worked, her dark eyes serious as they fixed on him.

“What?” he asked when she didn’t speak for a long moment.

“You and the Immortal,” she said. “You do not like him. Why is this?”

Rolling his eyes, Angel turned his attention back to the book, pretending he was understanding the gobbledygook he usually relied on Wes and Fred to figure out for him. “Because he’s a big, fat jerk?” he muttered under his breath. When Ilona reached out and slid the text away from him, he sighed and slumped back in his chair, folding his arms defensively across his chest. “What? What do you want me to say? I don’t like the guy. Isn’t that enough?”

Her smile was quizzical. “But it makes no sense. The Immortal, he does everything he can to foster the good feelings in people. You see him, and you cannot help but be overwhelmed by his presence.”

Angel snorted in disgust. “You’re confusing that with his cologne.”

“Even Wolfram and Hart, they see the potential in him,” Ilona continued. “So much power and yet, he chooses to focus it on love, on making those around him---.”

“---worship the ground he walks on,” he finished. “I get it. Trust me.” He paused, his dark frown drawing even tighter. “What do you mean, even Wolfram and Hart?”

For a moment, she looked as if she wished she hadn’t brought up the subject in the first place. Her gaze slid to the thick door that closed out the rest of the world from her offices, her long nails clicking against the table as she drummed them absently. By the time she shifted back to Angel, much of her lighter curiosity was gone, replaced with a shrewd scrutiny that took him by surprise.

“Even in Wolfram and Hart,” Ilona said, “there are circles within circles. You have seen this, I am sure. Los Angeles has always been notorious for dissension even amongst its staff.”

Angel refrained from commenting, though he knew full well what she was referring to. Even if he hadn’t known about Lindsey and Lilah before taking over, reading through the employee histories of just the last couple years had shown him enough conspiracies and intrigue to keep Oliver Stone hard for the next ten lifetimes. What did surprise him, though, was the acumen Ilona was showing on the subject.

“Here in Rome, however,” she went on, “we do things differently. It is not so much competition as it is seduction. You gain allies by giving them what they want, and they attempt to do the same. A vampire wants blood; you give him blood. A politico needs votes; you get him the votes. _This_ is how you gain strength. Because this dance, it shows the soft bellies, and this is how you learn where to strike. When the need arises, of course.”

“And what does any of that have to do with the Immortal?”

Her smile was sly. “Because he is the _master_ of seduction. The Senior Partners have been courting him for over a century. Why is it you think I am in charge here?” She leaned forward again, her voice dropping to conspiratorial levels. “Paolo and I, we have an understanding, yes? From many, _many_ years ago. The Senior Partners, they think they can exploit this. Because I know where Paolo’s soft belly is. What they do not see is that Paolo knows mine as well. So we dance, and we hope that, eventually, he will grow weary. I mean, they have eternity to wait for him, do they not?”

His first thought was, _Yeah, but Buffy doesn’t_. He didn’t know why she was telling him all this, but Angel wasn’t going to argue with good fortune. It was more information than he’d ever gleaned about the Immortal, though after seeing his little clock hobby, he thought it might be just a little bit too much. The only thing he didn’t understand was why it mattered that he didn’t like the bastard. Why had Ilona brought it up in the first place?

He couldn’t ask that question out loud, though. He couldn’t risk losing a potential ally, even if he didn’t trust her completely.

“Did you know about the Immortal’s little hobby?” Angel asked instead.

Her shoulders lifted in a graceful shrug. “What I know, what I don’t know, this is not what matters. Is harmless, no?”

“No.” There was probably a shade too much vehemence in his voice, but damn it, Angel was tired of everybody sweeping Buffy’s condition under the rug. The mages who had been tasked with finding additional counters had acted put out by the responsibility, so much so that Angel had wanted to tear their arms and beat them over the heads with them until they started looking like they cared. Only Spike seemed to appreciate the danger here, and wasn’t that a bitter pill to swallow.

“This doesn’t _bother_ you?” he pressed. “Buffy’s doing her best Rip Van Winkle, and nobody cares enough to find out where exactly he’s getting all those clocks from. _That’s_ where we should be starting. With whoever is putting together that kind of magic.”

Her full lips tipped, and a slight chuckle came from her throat. “So that is it,” she murmured. “His amour, she is not just a friend. You have feelings for her.” When she reached forward and patted his hand, like a mother consoling a tempestuous child, Angel almost snarled. “This jealousy, it isn’t healthy. Move on. She has.”

That was the last straw. “Oh, yeah, she’s _moved on_ ,” he sniped, scraping his chair back across the floor and rising to his feet. “Right into a coma. That’s real healthy.”

When he grabbed his coat and began heading for the door, Ilona rose as well. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” came the terse reply. “I need some fresh air. Call me the second you hear anything.”

* * *

The bite in the air was nothing compared to the cold fist squeezing Buffy’s heart. Part of it was because she had never even considered the question of what had happened to Riley when she’d been replaying the events from freshman year in her head. She had just assumed that he’d survived and gone off with the rest of the soldiers to…wherever soldiers went to when they weren’t needed any more. Except they hadn’t, and now that she thought about it, Buffy felt stupid for not making the connection earlier.

Maggie Walsh had always had plans for Riley. Only Buffy’s intervention, and her subsequent romantic relationship with Riley, had saved him from that. With her premature death, there would have been nothing to stop Adam from following through on his creator’s intentions. And now the result stood menacingly in front of them.

“I came out myself when one of my teams said they’d spotted you earlier,” Riley said. “But I didn’t honestly think you’d be stupid enough to not take cover, Seventeen.”

If possible, the muscles in Spike’s arm holding her behind him became even more rigid. “Least I’m still functioning on my own brain power,” he retorted. “Downloaded any good viruses lately?”

Riley ignored the taunts. “I assume the witch did the smart thing and crawled back underground. Since your human harem seems to be reduced to one.” He took a few steps sideways in order to better see Buffy, but when Spike attempted to block her further with his body, she defiantly pushed back against his arm, making herself more visible for Riley’s inspection. Maybe he remembered her. They had to have at least been dating when she was killed. Maybe seeing her could get through the demon part of his brain and diffuse the situation.

“She’s none of your concern, you wanker.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Back off, pet. You don’t want this fight.”

His words didn’t go unheard. Riley laughed. “Finally found somebody with a bigger death wish than you, Seventeen? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“You didn’t,” Buffy murmured.

She let Spike grab her arm and drag her to a halt, but it didn’t prevent her from moving into a patch of stolen light, fully evident for Riley to see. There weren’t any more of the soldier hybrids around, not yet, anyway. There was still a possibility they could get out of this if she could just get through to Riley.

His eyes narrowed, and the weapon shifted in his arms. “Declare yourself,” he ordered. “Who are you?”

She heard Spike’s hissed warning, but disregarded it. “Buffy Summers.” She paused. “And you’re Riley Finn.”

If she’d expected some big, Hollywood moment where he recognized her and immediately fell to his knees, clutching his head at the memories or begging her forgiveness, she would have been sorely disappointed. Riley never moved.

“Is this a joke, Seventeen?”

“If only it was,” Spike muttered.

“Do you remember me?” she asked. She winced when Spike’s bruising fingers gripped her even more tightly, a sound that did not go unnoticed by Riley. The weapon came up to a more alert position.

“I think I asked the wrong question,” Riley said. “You’ve got a heat register, so I know you’re alive, but his chip didn’t fire. _What_ are you? Demon?”

“Slayer,” she corrected. “But you already knew that.”

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Spike murmured behind her. When she glanced back, he wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were intent on Riley, flickering with every movement. “If you don’t fancy ending up on a slab, now’s the time to run.”

She didn’t have time to move before Riley was speaking again. “Slayers are still human,” he argued. “And Buffy Summers has been dead for years. So I’m only going to ask this one more time. What are you?”

The muscles in Spike’s hand around her arm constricted. The next thing Buffy knew, she was tossed through the air, landing in a heap twenty yards away and closer to the fence. By the time she lifted her head, all she saw was a dark blur as Spike charged at Riley.

“No!”

She was back on her feet, racing for the pair of men before reason could tell her not to.

Spike’s tossing of Buffy and subsequent charge had taken Riley by surprise, and the two demons were grappling on the ground when Buffy reached their sides. It took only a second for her to see it wouldn’t be a long fight. Riley had fifty pounds of muscle, six inches, and some wicked hook thing on the back of one of his hands to outclass Spike’s lithe form, years of fighting expertise, and lack of weapon.

Her foot shot out and slammed into Riley’s jaw just as the demon hook he sported slashed across Spike’s midsection. The force of it drove him backward, keeping him from completely eviscerating Spike, but the hook still made contact, leaving a scarlet trail in its ripping wake. Buffy curled her hands beneath Spike’s armpits and dragged him out of the way, looking back in time to see Riley push himself awkwardly back to his feet.

The weapon he had dropped when Spike had charged rested on the ground between them.

They dove for it at the same time, Riley slicing through the air in the same way he’d attacked Spike in an attempt to draw blood and slow Buffy down. Her speed gave her the advantage, though, and she grabbed and rolled out of the way, feeling the heavy butt jab into her ribs as she cradled it against her. Spike was already back at his feet, fangs snarling as he danced around Riley in the opposite direction. But it wasn’t enough to distract his attention from Buffy.

She shot without thinking, an electric blast going wide. Machinery so not my thing, she thought. It did manage to send Riley ducking for cover, though, with Spike leaping over his prone form and grabbing her by the wrist.

“Run!” he hissed.

Buffy was about to ask why they were running now, when she was armed and Riley was down, when two half-breeds appeared at the cemetery gates.

Everything else was a blur.

The shouts.

The air whipping past her cheeks.

Spike’s hand grabbing hers.

She ran, trusting him to lead. She had no idea where they were going, but he had pulled her free of the first patrol that night, and Buffy trusted that he would do it again.

Until his pace began to slow.

She dared to cast a look over. His shirt was soaked in blood, and the hand that didn’t grip Buffy’s was clutched to his stomach. Spike wasn’t saying a word about his pain, but the hard set of his jaw was all she needed to know he was in a great deal of it.

She dragged him to a halt behind a mausoleum, glancing back to make sure the hybrids were far enough back to warrant a few seconds reprieve.

“All that blood is making it easier for them to track us,” she said before he could speak. “We have to get to the sewers. Can you get us to the closest entrance?”

He nodded without saying a word, but when she tried to look at his injury, he brushed her hand away. “No time for that.” Blue eyes burned into hers. “You should’ve run.”

Buffy shook her head. “I fell for that once and lost you. I’m not doing it again.”

His mouth opened to argue, but a nearing shout set their feet back on their path. Spike wasn’t going for speed this time but angles, darting in and among the headstones. Blood splattered with every step, making their trail unclear, but when he stopped at a mausoleum, she stopped him from smearing more blood on the door and opened it herself.

The stench of rotting corpses filled her nostrils, and Buffy choked back the bile that rose in her throat at the sight of the dead bodies huddled in the corner. Somebody else had been driven into the mausoleum at one point, only they had not known of the sewers running beneath their feet. Or if they had, they hadn’t figured out how to get to them.

Or Spike had the wrong building and they’d just been cornered like a couple of rats in a maze.

“Over here,” he said without hesitating like she had.

She followed him to the farthest sarcophagus, grabbing the opposite end and helping him slide the stone to the side. Dust billowed in the air, making her cough, and Buffy held her hand over her nose and mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound.

“Are you sure?” she asked through her makeshift mask, gazing down at the bundle of clothes inside.

“Don’t trust me?” he countered.

He shoved aside the clothes aside on his end and revealed a trap door cut into the bottom of the sarcophagus. Buffy’s eyes widened, but she helped him pull it open, taking his silent cue to be the first. Dropping through the hole and down the twenty feet into the swelling water below, she stood back and watched as Spike sat on the edge, pulling back the lid before jumping down to join her.

The smell was worse in the sewer, but she knew it was what they needed to cover their tracks. It was also pitch black, and she stood frozen for what felt like eternity before she felt Spike’s cool fingers wrap around her wrist.

“This way,” was all he said.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Angel and Ilona had a conversation about the Immortal, and Buffy and Other!Spike managed to get away from Riley...

It took a phone call and a rather distressed housekeeper to finally pull the Immortal from the bedroom, leaving Spike alone with Buffy for the first time since the collapse of the Hellmouth. He had been acting nonchalant about the entire matter ever since the realization he couldn’t actually hurt the wanker while they were both inside the house, but the second the door whispered shut behind the Immortal, Spike was up, out of his chair, bending over Buffy’s unconscious form.

Her skin was flushed, a sheen of sweat over her brow making her long hair stick to it in thin tendrils. The raised temperature he and Angel had detected earlier was even higher now, and as Spike brushed a cool knuckle over her cheek, the heat transferred to his own flesh, a quiet insurgence that gripped his heart in fear.

“You can stop scaring us any time now,” he murmured, settling to sit on the edge of the bed. The Immortal had insisted he remain in his chair, but without a babysitter, Spike was going to get as close to Buffy as he bloody well could. Maybe all she needed to wake up was a close reminder of the people who loved her.

“Gotta tell you, though…the _Immortal_?” Spike shook his head. “Angel, I can almost understand. Know that whole brooding thing can be taken as sexy by the bubblegum set even if the rest of us know it’s not nearly so interesting. Don’t tell him I said so, though. His head gets any bigger, and he’ll have enough hot air for lift off.”

He picked up her hand, spreading her slim fingers along his. She had a new scar near the base of her thumb. Something twisted inside Spike at the notion that he had no idea how she had gotten it.

“Finn even makes sense in that twisted Slayer logic of yours,” he went on. “Built like Angel, not quite human for awhile there but without those pesky sunlight issues that always wound you up. Never liked it, but I s’pose I always understood it.”

The next link in the chain was him, but there was no way Spike was going there. When they finally woke Buffy up and she saw that he was alive – had been alive for months – there would likely be plenty of time to argue and dissect whatever it was that had transpired between the pair of them. He would save his energies for then.

“But the Immortal?” Even with the proof in front of his eyes, he couldn’t see it. “The tosser goes through girls like tissue, pet. Uses them for his own nefarious needs and leaves ‘em basking in afterglow too blind to see what he’s actually done. You deserve better than that. Hell, I’d rather see you with Angel again than see you waste yourself with that git. And we both know how bloody much I hate the notion of you with Angel.”

As he spoke, he turned her hand over in his, examining the fine lines of her palm. “All I wanted was for you to take your life back, pet. Got rid of the responsibility of slaying, didn’t you? Not that I thought you’d ever give that up, but at least bein’ one of many took some of the weight off. Gave you a chance to…”

Spike stopped, a dark crescent beneath her fingernail coming suddenly to his attention. The nail itself was flawless, painted in a pale iridescence as befitted her obvious mood in going out that night. But lifting her hand for closer inspection, he could see dried flakes caught beneath it. He sniffed. Blood. There had been dried blood on the clock as well; it was probably only that, getting lodged beneath her nail when she’d touched it.

Something niggled at him, though, more than the slight memory of Giles’ scent attached to the timepiece. Without thinking, he pressed a nail beneath hers, scraping away a few of the flakes and then lifting them to his tongue.

His eyes went wide upon immediate recognition, flying to Buffy’s pinked face as he gazed at her with growing alarm. “Oh, bloody hell…”

* * *

Their feet pounded through the echoing tunnels, occasionally hitting the unseen puddle that then splashed up to dampen her jeans. Buffy clutched the weapon tight against her torso, allowing the shifting bones and muscles of Spike’s hand to guide her through the darkness, and tried not to think about the demon she’d left behind, the monster that wore an old lover’s face but carried within in it little of his heart. It was a lot more difficult than she thought it would be.

Though she had never liked how quickly he had moved on – and if she was being completely honest with herself, Buffy could admit to feeling petty dislike for the perfect woman Riley had ended up finding – it still pleased Buffy that Riley had been able to attain some sort of happiness. It was too fleeting in their short existences, and outside of everything else, she really did want the best for him.

This Riley, however, had never known Sam. He might not have known Buffy all that well, either; she really had to find out from Spike when it was exactly she had died in this world. It was bad enough to think his future had been denied him, but to consider that he was now at the disposal of a monster like Adam? She shuddered at the thought. Before she left this place, she was going to do everything in her power to end what he would have hated. Adam was going to go down, but so was Riley and anybody else who had been changed in her absence. She owed him that at the very least.

After what felt like forever, Spike’s pace finally began to slow, and the distance between them closed as his arm grew less stiff in his pull. “Need to stop,” he murmured. “Just…for a sec.”

His fingers disappeared, leaving Buffy isolated with only the stale air of the sewer and the cool metal of her weapon for company. “Is it your injury?” she asked. Her voice sounded hollow, and when she heard the faint slosh of a puddle a few feet ahead, her hand shot out and grabbed Spike again. “Is there anything I can do?”

Without illumination, she was at a loss for what could be going through his mind in the silence that followed her query. She had never realized how much she relied upon his visual cues before. It was almost like he was dead again.

“No,” Spike said. “Nothin’ for you to do.” His fingers rested over hers and uncurled them from his arm. He didn’t let go, though. He simply led her a few more yards until pressing her hand to the solidity of the tunnel wall. “Catch your breath,” he instructed, letting her go. “I’m fairly sure we’ve lost ‘em and I need a minute or two to get this to stop bleeding.”

“Oh. OK.”

She leaned against the cold wall, molding her back to the slight curve, and pretended not to be a little wigged. It wasn’t that she was scared; it was the remoteness of it all, knowing Spike was only inches away, doing… _something_ to see to his wound, but unable to see or hear or smell or do anything to know exactly what it was. All she could hear was the faint echo of water dripping, and all she could feel was the growing cold. The sanctuary of the high school was going to be a welcome reprieve after the events of the past half hour or so.

“I loved you.”

Though she knew he stood somewhere nearby, the darkness made it seem like his hushed voice was all around her. Her eyes pricked with tears; in that moment, he sounded so much like her Spike that she was transported back to the night the gang had turned on her, deciding Faith was the better leader. All the things he’d said to her, the vows about his feelings independent of expectation. And she had never had the nerve to tell him exactly how she had needed to hear them, how they had opened up so much inside her, until it had been too late.

“I can’t imagine it, you know.” He was still speaking. Buffy had no idea why he was talking to her when he supposedly wanted to tend to his injuries. “There was a lot I did for Dru, a lot I put up with, because I loved her. But a soul?” She could almost see him shaking his head. “After Angel, that became a dirty word. It was everything that was wrong. The excuse made for what he didn’t want to face. Always seemed like fancy footwork for him to stop trying, you know?”

She didn’t, but she was sure it made complete sense to Spike. “So you can’t believe you’d get a soul, but you _can_ believe you loved me?” she added quietly.

He snorted. “Fall for a woman I can never really have, who’s beautiful, strong, and loyal to the bloody death? No, can’t see that at all, Slayer.”

She had to ask. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

The silence returned, weighing heavy and wet against her skin. _Answer me!_ she wanted to scream, anything to make the isolation go away. She knew it was wrong, knew she shouldn’t be seeking out these moments with him. This wasn’t her Spike, and never would be, and to try and recreate that was badness on so many levels that it made her head spin when she tried to think about it.

But she kept coming back to the same conclusion. _He’s all I’ve got._

His heavy tread stepped through a puddle, the sound of the water bouncing off the walls. Buffy felt the cool touch of his hand on her arm, but before she could reach for more, Spike was leading her away from the wall, his pace slower and more measured.

“Did you love him?” he asked out of the blue.

Their steps didn’t falter, and she could tell from the direction of his voice that he wasn’t looking at her. Could he see her in the darkness? Wasn’t it natural instinct to turn toward people when you talked to them?

“Not when we were together,” she admitted.

Spike made a sound that she would have called a sigh if it had come from anybody else. “Of course not.”

His response put her on the defensive. “It was…complicated.”

“Is that why I – _he_ – got the soul?”

Buffy fell silent, contemplating the question. She knew why he was asking all of them; he couldn’t wrap his brain around voluntarily turning himself into Angel, which was how he would see it even though it was far from the real case. But she didn’t want to share all the details of that night in the bathroom, or the months of violence beforehand, or the months of loneliness afterward. This Spike didn’t need them.

“We never really talked about why he got it,” she answered. That much was true. She and Spike had spent that last year doing everything they could to pretend that night had never happened. “Things got scary the months before he died. There wasn’t time for anything but training and fighting and…and then it was too late.”

“I don’t want to know how,” he said, suddenly vehement. “Know Tara saw it, know you want to have your own show and tell with it, but leave me out of the sharing when you feel like dissecting my death, all right? It’s not me, and it takes all I bloody have to do what must be done in my own life, let alone worrying ‘bout the choices another me might have made.”

“I can do that.” Buffy agreed without hesitation. She had a feeling there would be plenty of time when she got back to relive Spike’s death over and over inside her head, just like she had in those first few days after it had happened. And as long as this Spike was talking about it---.

“Just tell me one more thing,” he said. “Then I’m droppin’ this.”

“Go for it.”

There was a light far ahead, filtering through a grate in the ceiling. Spike didn’t speak again until they were standing in the pool of illumination, and his eyes were darkly intent on hers.

“If you could go back and save him,” he murmured, “would you do it?”

Of all the questions he could have asked. She knew why he had waited to ask it, too. He wanted to see her reaction, gauge for himself the veracity of her response without having the cover of darkness to hide behind. But like so many of his other questions, there really was only one answer she could give him.

“I would _want_ to,” Buffy confessed. “More than anything. But no, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.” She left the rest of it unspoken. _Because Spike did it to save the world, to save all of us. He would hate me for taking that away from him._

Spike’s jaw was tight, his features even more harshly etched from the shadows cast across them. He gave no outward reactions to her reply, but his fingers relaxed from the grip he’d had on her arm.

“Leg up, luv,” he said, jerking his chin toward the grate over their heads. Apparently, he wasn’t going to give her an oral reaction either. “We’re home.”

* * *

The phone call with Ilona lasted far too long for Paolo’s comfort. She was over-reacting, he was sure, and her concerns about the vampire Angelus were colored completely by her attraction to him, but Paolo listened to her anyway, arguing her points with as much precision as he could allow. She had been with Wolfram and Hart for too long; she was losing her delight in life that had made her such a joy in her youth. Perhaps he would make the suggestion she take a vacation during their next lunch together.

He hung up the phone with a vague sense of disquiet, though. Angelus’ inquiries were really of no import in the long run; the clocks were harmless and always had been. It was merely an unfortunate accident that Buffy had encountered one, and one he would ensure could not be repeated once she was awake again. But the fact that the vampire would so relentlessly pursue their creation, as if Paolo had done something wrong in appropriating them, left him worried that he would pry elsewhere. That might prove a trifle more alarming than Ilona’s anxiety about Angelus roaming the city.

“Is there anything you need for me to do?” Donatella asked, hovering at his elbow.

Paolo shook his head. “Ilona has the matter well in hand. Her mages will find the answers we need to wake Buffy.” He turned back to the stairs, then stopped, another thought springing to mind. “Alert the grounds people to be wary of any more unannounced callers. Angelus may decide to return without warning. I do not hold hopes that he will be as accommodating this time.”

She bobbed her head in compliance and asked, “Do we need to do a disinvite?”

It was a tempting suggestion. “Unfortunately, this must wait. Until Buffy awakens. We shall simply be more careful until she does.”

He left Donatella to her duties, mulling over this newest development as he slowly climbed the stairs. He was not accustomed to so much disruption in his routine, and once life had returned to normal, he was going to have a long conversation with Buffy about her vampire friends. He was not concerned about her romantic history – after all, she was with him now – but their appearances into his life created chaos. Disorder. These were things Paolo had spent his entire existence fighting. He would not allow his life to be altered unnecessarily, simply because of a single liaison.

He had banished all worries of Ilona and Angelus to the back of his mind by the time he reached his bedroom door. Before opening it, he took a deep, calming breath. William the Bloody gave him a headache, with his obnoxious behavior and his constant brash commentary. Paolo would have loved to hit the vampire back, but the unfortunate side effect of the sanctuary spell meant he couldn’t harm others as well. It was a shame. The vampire could use a good beating to show him his true place.

His temporary calm disappeared the second he opened the door.

Buffy and the vampire were gone.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike and Buffy disappeared from the Immortal's house, and Buffy and Other!Spike managed to get back to the high school in spite of his injury...

In the light of the high school basement, Buffy got her first good look at Spike’s injury and immediately went pale.

He had stripped out of his shirt in the sewers, using it to hold against the bleeding when it wouldn’t stretch enough to tie around his waist. Streaks of scarlet dripped into his waistband, and the hand that had kept the cotton pressed to the wound had blood seeping between his fingers. Worse, in the seconds he had to take his hand away from it in order to climb up, Buffy saw the torn flaps of skin, exposing the sinewy muscle of his stomach.

“Why is it still bleeding?” she asked. She stopped him from moving, helping him lean against the wall so that she could take a better look. “You never bleed this much, and definitely not for this long.”

“There’s poison in Finn’s hook,” Spike explained. “It’s not lethal, but it makes for a slow recovery. Helps him track injured prey. Tara’s got some herbs she uses to fix cuts like this up. I just need to…” His eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulder. “…lie down for a bit.”

Carefully, Buffy scooped her arm around his back, feeling him stiffen at the initial contact. She didn’t want to consider the implications of why Tara would have a ready supply of this particular herb. How many run-ins with Riley had Spike had over the years? “I can get us to your room if you give me the directions,” she said.

Thank god for light. It let her witness the debate war across his face this time, lashes finally parting as he nodded in consent.

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Their steps were slow and plodding as they navigated the narrow corridors. As she bore his weight, Buffy wondered how it was Spike had made it through the sewers without faltering, without letting her know how much pain he had actually been in. It explained more of why he had been willing to talk, though. Pain could be a great equalizer.

The sanctuary slept around them. Gone were the noises of life that had proliferated during her first trek through the halls. The only sounds remaining were those of their feet, and she fought to keep those as low as possible until they were finally standing outside his room. The door was locked.

“Key’s in my pocket,” Spike said without looking at her. When Buffy glanced down, hesitating a fraction of a second too long, he snorted in disbelief. “Don’t be gettin' all dainty on me now, Slayer. It’s just a soddin’ key.”

Under the sting of the scolding, she fished into his pocket, ignoring the half-hard length of his cock against his thigh as she pulled the key out. Spike stumbled across the threshold when she unlocked the door, but all Buffy noticed was that the room was empty.

“Where would Tara be?” she asked. She watched him go straight to the shelves and grab a stained rag, exchanging that for his ruined shirt. “I’ll go get her so you can get those herbs.”

“She’s likely with Joyce and Rupert. Probably goin’ over what we decided on Adam, or brainstorming on how to get you home. She falls asleep over there all the time.” He jerked his chin at a small wooden box, nestled on a bottom shelf. “Kit’s in there. It doesn’t require anything special, just someone to make sure the herbs get into the cut clean.”

His careful avoidance of her eyes told her that was as much as he was going to say on the matter. In light of everything that had transpired, Buffy decided to make it easier for him.

“If I do it, we can get it done now,” she offered.

Spike nodded. He looked relieved he didn’t have to ask. “That’s for the best. Sooner I stop bleeding, sooner I’m ready to help you with Adam.”

Tossing the rag aside, he crossed to the bed while Buffy knelt to dig out the box. When she straightened and turned toward the bed, though, she nearly dropped it again at the sight of Spike pushing his jeans down past his bare ass.

“What are you doing?” she asked in alarm.

Oblivious to his nudity, Spike stripped off the rest of the way before grabbing a towel to lay over the bed. “Better to tend to the cut,” he said without glancing back at her. “And it’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”

She stood frozen, watching as he stretched out on top of the towel. It was one thing to feel his arousal through his jeans. It was something else entirely to see it laid out in all its glory.

Her gaze flickered to his cock. Well, in half its glory. He wasn’t fully hard yet. She thought if he had been excited by their current circumstances, she would have been a little worried.

His eyes were closed by the time she looked up to his face, his lashes dark against his pale cheeks. He had thrown his arm across his brow, and his muscles were twitching in his jaw, all too apparent evidence of his conflict with what he was asking of her. Buffy’s heart softened a little more. Then he spoke again.

“Still bleeding here, Slayer. You can enjoy the peep show after.”

His words spurred her into movement. Crossing the room, Buffy perched on the edge of the bed, the herbs ready in her lap, and examined the effects of the poison close up. The edges of the injury were cauterized, as if with a hot iron, and they were streaked with scarlet that faded into spidery threads the further it got away from the cut. It almost looked like it was infected, though she knew that wasn’t possible, not in a vampire’s body.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Riley?” she asked, pressing a pinch of the fragrant herbs into the cut.

Spike’s eyes flew open at the same time his muscles tensed. “Why would I?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because we dated and I might be interested in knowing an ex got turned into a monster.”

He was instantly up on his elbows, staring at her with renewed incredulity. “You _dated_ that wanker? Jesus, Slayer, you have got to have the most soddin’ pathetic taste in men I have ever known. Angel, the Immortal, Finn.” He shook his head. “No wonder you dream about me. I’m the best bloody thing that ever happened to you.”

Her fingers jabbed another pinch of the herbs into his injury, making him wince from the force. “Riley’s a good man,” she said. “That thing we saw tonight is not him.”

His hand shot out to grab her wrist, preventing her from applying any more of the treatment. “There’s a lot in this world that’s not what you know, and the sooner you start accepting that, the better off you’re goin’ to be.”

“I don’t have to accept anything---.”

“And if we can’t find a way for you to get back? If you’re stuck here good and proper? What are you goin’ to do then, Slayer?”

Buffy glared at him, but refused to tear away from his bruising grip and give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset by his questions. “Not that that’s going to happen,” she said, “but I’ll do what I always do. I’ll survive. That’s one thing you and I have always had in common.”

She said it partially because she knew that drawing comparisons between them would bug the hell out of Spike. But she said it even more because it was true.

His fingers slowly uncurled from her wrist, though his gaze remained unwavering on hers. “Know what I hate?” His voice was surprisingly even, though he hadn’t really raised it during the exchange. “How bloody smug you get, thinkin’ you know me so well.” He fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Not your souled ponce of a boyfriend, no matter how you try to paint me, pet. Though knowin’ you were with Finn, too, least I understand why he probably went and got it.” His eyes shut again. “I’ll wager with that savior fixation you’ve got it was the only way you’d look at him twice.”

Her hands were trembling as Buffy set aside the box and blindly grabbed the bandages he had at the ready. Many of his words had stung, but this, these were too much, if only because they attacked the one thing she’d figured untouchable.

Neither of them spoke as she taped the gauze to his stomach, nor when she rose from the bed to return the box of herbs to the shelf. She was tired of fighting with Spike, tired of processing all the changes, tired of pretending that she wasn’t scared she was going to be stuck here. She was simply tired.

The mattress squeaked behind her, and she glanced back to see Spike grabbing a pair of black sweats discarded near the foot of the bed. Their eyes caught, held, his blazing with defiance.

“You don’t really think I sleep starkers with Tara, do you?” he dared.

She had. Sleeping naked was one of the things about Spike she would have gambled being a certainty.

He turned his back on her again as he slipped them on, the elastic worn and stretched so that they rode low on his slim hips. “I’m goin’ to sleep,” he said. “Been a long night. For both of us. You should get yourself comfortable so you can catch a few hours.”

Buffy looked around the room, debating where would be the most comfortable spot to curl up like he suggested. Soft cotton smacking into her face startled her out of her inspection, and she caught it before it fell to the floor. A t-shirt. One of Spike’s. She lifted her head to see him watching her.

“My money’s on Tara not comin’ back tonight.” Much of the fire in his voice was gone, his lethargy returning. “You can have her half of the bed if you want.” His eyes jumped to where she was twisting the shirt between her fingers. “Provided you can keep your hands to yourself. Don’t fancy fighting off horny Slayer in my sleep.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, choosing instead to turn his back on her and climb into bed. He settled on the outside edge, leaving the sheltered half near the wall for her should she choose to claim it.

“Why?” she asked, her voice faint.

“Made a promise to protect you, didn’t I?” His eyes were closed, the stillness of his body enough to fool anybody who wasn’t her that he was relaxing into slumber. She recognized those taut lines, though. She could spot every worry, every fear, every tension in him from a mile off. “’Course, would help if you stopped tryin’ to live by rules that don’t apply here,” Spike continued. “No more runners. Too risky. For all of us.”

“Because of what happened tonight?”

“Because of Finn thinking there’s another Slayer in town now.”

Her hands stilled in mid-disrobing. “Another?” Her mind raced before coming up with the only name that made any sense. “You mean Faith?”

Spike gave no reaction to it. “Was that her name? Never knew.”

Buffy shoved off her clothes with fingers that had started trembling again. “You didn’t tell me Faith was around,” she accused.

“Because she’s not. Bird’s been dead for years.” His eyes opened at the exact moment she was dropping her shirt from her shoulders, watching her steadily. “Way I heard it, she lasted six months once Adam’s boys pulled her out of the coma. Gave ‘em all hell the entire time. Only reason they never changed her was because Finn put his foot down.”

Her _Why?_ was muffled by the swift yank of the t-shirt over her head. Spike’s gaze was still dark and impenetrable when she could see him again.

“Because the git’s got a hard-on for Slayers. Actually makes sense now, knowing you and him had a thing.”

What also made sense was how protective Spike had got with Buffy as soon as he’d seen Riley. And everything he had said to her during the confrontation.

Slowly, she walked over to the bed, his scrutiny heavy upon every step. She didn’t say a word as she crawled over his legs, nor did he as he reached to turn off the light. Neither said anything until the room flooded with darkness.

“Thank you,” Buffy whispered. “I know you’re hating every second of this, so…I want you to know I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

He was quiet for so long that she thought he’d finally passed out.

“Go to sleep, pet,” Spike murmured. The angle of his voice meant that he was at the very least looking at her, if not facing her. A whisper of fingertips across her cheek told her it was probably the latter. “Save the worries for tomorrow.”

She closed her eyes. Within moments, in spite of her anxieties, in spite of her fears, in spite of the tumult inside her head, Buffy Summers was sound asleep.

* * *

The night was still thriving around Angel as he finished his untold revolution around Wolfram and Hart’s block. Young people were out in packs, laughing and drinking and smoking as they danced from club to club, building to building in search of a few more minutes of gaiety before the dawn came and disrupted their fun. Any other time and he knew that it would be somewhere to relax, something to enjoy. But not tonight. Tonight, his thoughts were too wrapped up in Buffy and the Immortal and Spike and all the history he’d been trying to ignore.

In his pocket, his phone chirped at him, prompting him to pull it out and look at the display before answering on the first ring. It wasn’t Ilona.

“Mr. Angel?” The smooth voice of the pilot came over the line, though he didn’t sound nearly as composed as he normally did. “I have a…situation I need you to deal with.”

Angel rubbed his eyes. He didn’t need to worry about international flight plans right now. “Can’t it wait?”

“Um…no. Not really.”

There was a sudden thud in his ear and then muffled crackling as the phone that had obviously been dropped was picked up again. The next voice Angel heard was the last he would have expected.

"If you don’t fancy gettin' left behind,” Spike said, “might want to get your ass in gear and get down to the plane. I’m givin’ you fifteen minutes, and whether you’re on board or not, Lindbergh here is gettin' us out of Rome.”

A torrent of furious questions refused to be held back. “What the hell are you doing on the plane?” Angel demanded. “Why aren’t you with Buffy? I gave you a direct order, Spike. Is it so much to ask that you actually _listen_ to me once in a while?” He stopped, Spike’s wording finally sinking in. “And what do you mean…get _us_ out of Rome? Who’s with you?”

“Who do you think?”

Angel lost Spike’s tirade about the Immortal and the clocks and snatching Buffy from the palazzo. All he could think about as he grabbed the first taxi he saw was the problem this was going to cause in keeping Ilona as much on their side as she was.

“…and if you think I’m goin’ to sit back and let the belly of the beast swallow Buffy down without putting up a fight for her,” Spike was saying, “you don’t deserve to be on this bloody plane in the first place.”

“Slow down, Spike.” Angel tossed a fistful of cash at the driver, letting his eyes flash amber as he ordered him to get to the airport as quick as he could. “What happened after I left? Ilona assured me that the Immortal, as much as we might loathe and detest the man, would take care of Buffy. That’s what he does, after all. Remember how he got Dru and Darla to---.”

“ _Don’t_ be bringing that up,” Spike warned. “I had to listen to Dru for months after we got out of Rome. Rather not get the instant replay again, thank you very much.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that Buffy should have been safe. Ilona said---.”

“Ilona said, Ilona said. And did she happen to say that Wolfram and Hart’s behind the Immortal’s little clock fetish? I’ll wager not, since you’re still tooting her horn.”

The accusation had Angel scrambling to replay every conversation with Ilona he had had, how she had evaded answering his questions about the clocks, deflecting the topic of conversation back to him and away form his inquiries. “How do you know that?” he asked. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because it’s always about the blood. This case, the blood Buffy picked up from touching that damn clock. If it doesn’t belong to that tosser Knox, I’ll eat my coat.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy tended to Spike's injury, and the two fell asleep together, while Angel learned that Spike was at the plane, ready to leave Rome with Buffy...

Angel almost thought they weren’t going to get off the ground. Roman airport officials weren’t pleased with the sudden flight plan, dawdling in granting approval for precious seconds, seconds where all he could hear was the shallow rhythm of Buffy’s breathing in the passenger area behind him, seconds where the twinkling vista of Rome’s skyline stared back at him through the cockpit window. There were worries that Ilona had already figured out what was going on, that the Immortal had phoned her the second he discovered Buffy was missing, and that Wolfram and Hart were doing everything in their power to forestall any progress Angel might make. Then they got their authorization. He almost kissed the pilot in gratitude.

Spike was subdued when Angel came back to buckle himself in. He had stretched out on the small couch with Buffy firmly cushioned against him, his arm around her waist in lieu of a seatbelt, and his mouth hovered at her temple, as if wanting to kiss but not quite daring to. A knot of anger twisted with the jealousy already simmering in his gut, but Angel said nothing as he sat down. It might burn, but Spike deserved this one concession for getting Buffy away. They would simply address the matter of anything more once they got to London.

There had been no argument about where to take Buffy. Though Angel was still smarting from Giles’ refusal to help with Fred, he knew there was no way he would shut the door in their faces with his Slayer in their arms. The Council, under his guidance, protected their own. The debacle with Dana had proven that, if nothing else.

As for Spike’s revelation about where the clock had come from, Angel grabbed the in-flight phone as soon as they were up in the air. Much to his relief, Wes answered on the second ring.

“Angel.” He sounded surprised to hear him. “I haven’t finished---.”

“Set it aside.” Spike’s sharp glance told Angel how loudly he was speaking, and he deliberately lowered his tone. “I have new information which needs to take precedence.”

“Of course. I take it…Buffy hasn’t awakened yet?”

His eyes swept over her recumbent form, his jaw twitching when he saw how Spike’s fingers had slipped beneath her top to stroke softly along her waistband. “No. But we found out who is supplying the clocks, if not who did the actual spell.”

“That’s wonderful. Who?”

“Us.”

Silence poured through the line. “Pardon?” Wesley finally asked carefully. “Did you say…?”

“Wolfram and Hart.” Watching Spike’s fingers was hypnotic, and Angel growled as he turned his back on the pair. “They’re the ones who gave the clock to the Immortal. We found Knox’s blood on the one Buffy touched. I don’t know how it got there. All I want to know is why.”

“But...” He heard Wesley’s soft exhalation, knew how much he was asking of his friend. “…Knox is dead, Angel. I can’t very well pull him into my office and interrogate him. What do you wish for me to do?”

Angel outlined his request, listening to Wesley scribble his notes. He had no idea if it was even possible, but he knew that if there was any hope, Wes would find it. “How long do you think it’ll take to get that information?” he finished.

“If it’s documented, fairly quickly. Either way, I can let you know within thirty minutes or so.”

He checked his watch. In the Wolfram and Hart jet, the flight to London was a short one, but he was still going to be up in the air for another forty minutes. “I’ll call you back in an hour,” Angel said. “Right now, we’re getting Buffy to safety. If I find anything else out in the interim, I’ll let you know.”

Spike was regarding him with solemn eyes when he hung up the phone. “Her temperature’s rising,” he said. He shifted his hold on her, moving his mouth away from her temple. “I’d say…one-oh-two by now.”

Angel swore under his breath. “That’s putting a time limit on this whole situation. We really don’t need that on top of everything else.” Spike’s hand was still moving along her skin, though now almost imperceptibly. “And will you stop that! Just…lay Buffy down and get in your own seat. She doesn’t need you pawing her, and I definitely don’t need to see you doing it.”

The gentle strokes stopped, though Spike made no effort to move. “She needs to know she’s with friends who love her, you nit. It’s like with the people in comas, yeah? Talk to ‘em, touch ‘em, let ‘em know you’re there. Helps ‘em recover.”

“That’s not touching! That’s _petting_!”

Spike’s temper was starting to rise as well. “It relaxes her,” he snapped. “And it’s not like I asked for a bloody ice cube, now is it?”

“What? What would you need a--?” He stopped, grimacing. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. At least you haven’t been stupid enough to try and _kiss_ her awake, like she was Sleeping Beauty or something.”

Spike’s silence was damning.

Angel stared at him in disbelief. “Oh my god, you did. What the hell goes through that head of yours? Do you even _think_ before you try these crazy ideas?” He shook his head, still unable to comprehend what Spike had done. “You can’t honestly have believed that was going to work.”

“And how stupid would you have felt if we got all through this, and kissing her was _exactly_ what we needed to do?” More gently than the rigidity of his body should have allowed, Spike slid out from under Buffy, resting her back onto the couch with tender hands before stomping over to his own seat. “Had to do something,” he growled, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. He glared at Angel, though something lurked within his blue eyes that made Angel hesitate to lash back as violently. “And no harm came from it. She’s still there, still sleepin’, and if we don’t suss out how to get her back, we’re goin’ to lose her to the Sandman for good. Don’t be gettin' your knickers in a twist about me and her until there’s something real twisting them.”

“There is no you and her,” Angel countered. “She’s with the Immortal now, remember?”

“Oh, know that. All too well. Question is, do you?”

His mouth tightened into that familiar scowl that seemed a permanent fixture when Spike was around. Regardless of whether he agreed with Spike’s methodology, Angel had to admit he had at least one point. He was jealous. He’d been jealous when he’d thought there was something going on between Spike and Buffy the previous year, and it had festered with Spike’s added presence in Los Angeles. The only thing that had ever eased it was knowing that for as long as Spike was in LA, he wasn’t with Buffy. What would happen when she woke up and realized Spike was alive?

“What are you going to do?” he asked. The question brought a drawing of Spike’s brows, and Angel rolled his eyes as he clarified. “When we snap Buffy out of this and she finds out you’re not dust in the bottom of the Sunnydale crater. What is it you think is going to happen?”

Spike’s gaze fell to the floor. “Hell if I know,” he muttered. “Figured I’d leave that part up to Buffy. It’s always been her show, after all.”

He sounded so genuinely confused that it drove Angel into silence. He wasn’t going to be the one to make Spike feel better, not about Buffy, not about trying to find a future with her. Buffy deserved better, always had and always would. Of course, Angel would much prefer seeing her with Spike than with the Immortal, but hopefully, once they woke her up, she’d see reason about the both of them.

“Why is it you’re so fussed about this?” Spike asked. Angel snapped from his reverie to find the other vampire’s blue gaze intent on his. “You’ve moved on. Got the wolfgirl now. Are you telling me you’d leave her behind if Buffy crooked her finger in your direction?”

He hadn’t actually thought about it in terms of Nina. “Well, no,” he said. “But that’s not the point---.”

“And if Buffy’s happy, then why should it matter who she picks?” Spike pressed. “You _should_ be able to sit back and be happy for her.”

“Oh, like you jumped for joy when we found out she was with the Immortal now.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, his jaw twitching. For a moment, he simply glared at Angel, then slumped back in his seat. “Wanker,” he muttered.

Angel shook his head and turned away, grabbing a magazine to try and distract himself from the argument. “Big baby.”

“Selfish git.”

“Let it go, Spike.”

Silence filled the plane.

“Tosser.”

Angel sighed.

* * *

They landed in London without having said another word to the other. Frankly, Spike was grateful for the reprieve. There were already too many thoughts running rampant inside his skull to have Angel’s dissenting voice added to it, but most of all, there was Buffy. With every slight increment of her rising temperature, his worry about her compounded a thousandfold. None of his fears would matter a drop if they couldn’t wake her up before her fever escalated beyond their control. None of it would matter at all if she died as a result of the Immortal’s obsessive hobby.

In spite of Angel’s glower, Spike held her close as they touched down, keeping her from jarring from the less than smooth impact. All he wanted was to savor every second he got with her in his arms, Angel’s opinions be damned. The sharp edges of his declarations cut more than Spike was willing to admit, mainly because he knew they held a grain or two of truth, but for as long as it was as simple as protecting her from physical harm, he would give it all he had and more. Until the moment came again when she didn’t need him.

He had her cradled in her arms, ready to disembark, when the distant squawk of the radio in the cockpit made them both pause.

“…wait for the officials.”

Angel’s head snapped up at the same time Spike’s eyes jumped to his. They didn’t need to hear the pilot’s response to the radioed instruction. There was no time for it.

“Emergency exit,” Angel mouthed, jerking his chin toward the back of the plane.

Spike followed as Angel brushed past him, eyes and ears straining to catch any unwelcome advances. With the bedlam of the small airport surrounding them, it was difficult to pick out specifics. A roar of an engine. The creak of metal. Too many heartbeats to discern a single individual.

And a burning Slayer nestled in his arms.

The night air was cold as it blasted through the open door, the smell of exhaust thick and choking. Angel didn’t bother with the stairs, leaping gracefully to the ground first, but Spike hesitated long enough to assess the safest way to jump holding Buffy.

“Just do it,” he heard Angel hiss.

Spike’s coat billowed around him, softening his landing. Immediately, Angel was running, away from the main terminal and toward one of the luggage trucks parked nearby, leaving Spike close on his heels. It took only seconds to hop onto the back, and only a few more for Angel to get the thing moving, the vehicle lumbering forward with a dull roar that seemed ominous to Spike’s ears. In the distance, he saw slim figures approach the plane they had just vacated, though it was too far to pick up what they were saying to the waiting pilot. They boarded, and within moments, appeared as faint outlines in the emergency exit that still stood open.

Spike grinned as he flipped them off, though he knew they couldn’t see him. “Idiots,” he muttered.

Nobody followed them as Angel navigated around the building, abandoning the luggage truck as close to the taxi rank as he could manage. At that hour of the night, the line was empty, only a few black cabs waiting to pick up passengers. They didn’t have to wait before slipping into the wide back seat of the first car.

The driver cast them a curious glance in his mirror, but if he cared about the lack of reflection, he didn’t say a word. He sped through the empty London streets, the windows open, the familiar smell of the Underground seeping from beneath the concrete a reminder of days gone by. Spike had no time for nostalgia, though. All his thoughts were on Buffy, and the Immortal, and back on that bloody clock. They stayed there until they stood on the Council’s step, waiting for someone to answer the door.

“Let me do the talking,” Angel warned.

“Mean like the last time, when Rupert refused to take your call?” Spike sniped. He rolled his eyes, adjusting Buffy’s slight weight in his arms. “Yeah, that’ll make things just peachy.”

“He doesn’t even know you’re alive, remember? And we can’t afford to make this about you, which it will turn into the second you open your mouth.”

“Because seein’ dearly departed me on his doorstep with his Slayer unconscious in my arms won’t raise a question at all.” Spike snorted in disbelief. “Doesn’t matter which of us does the talkin’. You just like the sound of your own voice too much to let the rest of us have a go.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk---.”

Before the argument could degenerate into another name-calling spat, the sound of the lock turning in the door shut them both up, pulling both of their attentions toward the entrance, waiting for it to open. A bleary-eyed young man not much more than twenty peered through, but the moment his gaze settled on Buffy, his eyes flew as wide as the door he suddenly threw open.

“Oh! Miss Summers! What on earth…?” He began gesticulating wildly. “Come in, come in. What happened? Where did you find her? I thought she was in Rome, but perhaps Mr. Giles forgot to tell me…”

His blathering questions continued unabated as Spike and Angel entered, one obstacle out of their way. The townhouse’s front hall was narrow, the only illumination the small lamp sitting on the cherry sideboard. All the doors that led off it were closed, but from the top of the stairs that took up half the width, Spike heard another open and shut, then footsteps pad down the hall.

“What on earth is worth such a racket, Daniel?” Giles’ voice was hushed but urgent, and Spike looked up the stairs in time to see him start to descend. He froze when he spotted the pair at the bottom, however, eyes widening as he began to fumble with the glasses in his hands. “Oh, dear lord…”

“Right,” Spike said. “Let’s get this out of the way, shall we? I’m alive, the idiot son here just invited a pair of vampires into your house without batting an eyelash, and, oh yeah, Buffy’s stuck in another dimension courtesy of her new wanker boyfriend who I hope to hell you give as much a hard time as you ever gave me. So. How ‘bout a cuppa, Rupes?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Angel and Spike fled to London with Buffy, turning up on Giles' doorstep for his aid in waking her...

At least Rupert still drank the good stuff. Sprawled in the corner of the couch in the front lounge, Spike sipped at his single-malt whiskey as he watched the Watcher flip through book after book from his shelf, looking for any reference to the Immortal that he could find.

“Can’t believe you didn’t know,” Spike commented with a shake of his head. “Which part of the Watcher job description slips your understanding? Because last I heard---.”

Giles snapped shut the book he held in his hands, effectively cutting Spike off. “Believe it or not,” he said, his tone curt, “there _is_ precedence for Buffy’s behavior. She has never deemed it important enough to tell me of her romantic relationships until well after the fact. For instance, she hid Angel’s return from us for months. And I didn’t learn of Riley for several weeks, and as for you, well, I only discovered your involvement with Buffy after you’d left to get your soul.” He stopped in mid-reach for another volume, frowning as he looked to Spike. “You _do_ still have your soul, correct? This…resurrection brought you back exactly as you were?”

“Except for the part where I could walk through walls for a few months there, yeah.” There had been little talk lingering on his return from the ever after. Buffy’s condition superceded anything not related to that, and Spike had been more than happy to gloss over the details in favor of deducing how to wake Buffy up. Common goals had always been the one thing to draw the two Englishmen together. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Giles shook his head, taking off his glasses to rub wearily at his eyes. “No. I know I’ve read _something_ on the Immortal, but I can’t remember where. I’m sure it was something when we organizing our information on hellmouths, but for the life of me…”

Daniel’s entrance into the lounge stopped Giles’ reverie and both men turned to look at the young Watcher. He couldn’t meet Spike’s gaze, still pink with embarrassment for having invited him in so cavalierly, and instead fidgeted under his superior’s attention.

“Did you get a hold of Andrew?” Giles asked.

Daniel nodded. “He’s taken Dawn to the safe location. They haven’t heard from the Immortal, but he was quite adamant that Buffy should have been safe with him. He claims the Immortal is quite the gentleman.”

Spike snorted. “Yeah, he gentled her right into a coma, the wanker.”

“Well, at least we can be assured he won’t be able to use Dawn as leverage against us,” Giles said. “What about Buffy?”

“Settled. And the doctor is on his way.”

Suddenly, Daniel scuttled to the right as Angel appeared behind him in the entrance, his cell phone in his hand. Spike thought he was going to snap the phone in half from the force of his white-knuckled grip, and sat up, setting his tumbler onto the table.

“Well?” he demanded. “What did Wesley say?”

His mouth was a grim line, his eyes barely hiding his fury. “There was an expedition,” Angel said. “Two days after the Sunnydale Hellmouth collapsed. It happened right before we moved into Wolfram & Hart, so the reports slipped under our radar.”

“And Knox?” Spike didn’t know why he was asking; he’d recognized the bastard’s blood. The memory of its scent was all too clear from the stand-off with Illyria.

“Part of the on-site team. It was his job to catalog everything for further scientific study.” The venom in his last words betrayed Angel’s distaste for the whole thing. “There were pictures of everything that was taken in the file Wes found. The clock’s one of them. The crack in its face was already there when they dug it up, so Knox probably cut himself or something while he was handling it.”

“Does the report say why they were conducting the expedition?” Giles queried.

Angel shook his head. “But it doesn’t have to. Every single item the team walked away with was a timepiece of some sort.”

The room lapsed into a heavy silence. The implications of Wesley’s discovery were staggering. It meant the Immortal’s interest in Buffy hadn’t started when they had first met; it meant it had started months earlier. Who else would have so much interest in a bunch of clocks?

“I don’t suppose the report detailed who was responsible for the dimensional magic,” Giles hinted. “Or perhaps…had a copy of the spell itself?”

“No. It had something almost as good. It had the name of the person who received all the so-called artifacts from the dig.” His eyes met Spike’s. “Ilona Costa Bianchi.”

* * *

It was the fact that she couldn’t move that woke Buffy up.

Fighting through the veil of sleep, it took several moments for her to remember what had happened and where she was. Her brain was thick with fuzzy disorientation as she tried to sort out all the sensations surrounding her, some familiar, some not, some like revenants from long-forgotten dreams. She thought for a moment that she had fallen asleep at Paolo’s, but it was the powerful arm clamped around her waist that pulled her free of the confusion. Paolo liked to fall asleep holding her, but he always let her go some time in the night. It made him claustrophobic, he said.

This was not Paolo’s arm.

At some point, Buffy had rolled onto her side, facing the wall, while behind her, Spike had done the same. Though she couldn’t see it in the pitch black, she recognized the weight of his arm around her waist, how he reached all the way around her and tucked his fingers under her ribcage in order to hold on, as if he feared she would get up without him. There had been months of waking up exactly in this position, and it made her eyes prick with tears at the thought that this Spike did the same thing.

There was more. There was the nuzzling into her hair, his nose resting just behind her ear. There was the hard line of his erection firmly against her bottom. There was the occasional sound, almost a sigh, faint from the back of Spike’s throat, as if in response to his dreams.

It was all so familiar that this time, Buffy didn’t stop the tears. She laid there, silent, motionless, and let them fall.

One of his sighs seemed suddenly higher where it floated across her skin, and Spike’s arm stiffened around her waist. It lasted for only a fraction of a second, however, and then his hand was brushing back the hair that hid her face.

“Don’t cry, pet,” he murmured. His touch was gentle, a bird wing’s caress, but it only managed to exacerbate her sadness. “Ssshhh…know it’s a bit much, but we’ll get you back.”

She wondered why he wasn’t pulling away, but didn’t question her good fortune. In spite of the heavier rush of tears, it was soothing to have him so near, to be able to pretend that this wasn’t a nightmare and Spike really was alive.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” she whispered. Any louder seemed a sacrilege in the darkness. “Just ignore me. Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t.” His voice was just as soft. “Conditioned to wake up whenever Tara does, in case of danger. I can’t sleep until you do.” His fingertips skimmed across her damp cheeks, capturing some of the wetness. “Bloody hate seein’ a woman cry. Even if it’s a Slayer.”

His words brought a chuckle through the tears, and Buffy turned her face into the pillow, hating that she had bothered him with her weakness. “You can’t see me anyway,” she said, her voice muffled. “Too dark.”

“Can see all I need to,” came the soft reply.

His hand fell away, and she felt the pillow shift as he laid his head back down. When he began to roll onto his back, slipping his arm from around her, however, Buffy grabbed his wrist and held him still. Silence followed.

“It’s not what you think.” His voice was almost in her ear, but he didn’t fight her hold on him. “It’s how me and Tara sleep half the time. Warm body in the bed…just did it on instinct, Slayer. Doesn’t mean anything.”

She doubted very much he slept with Tara so intimately, with his arousal so pressed so close to her, but Buffy held her tongue. Instead, she said, “I know.”

It took nearly a minute of their holding pattern for Spike to relax his arm, slipping his hand back beneath the t-shirt to curl around her side. It was higher this time, his fingers dangerously close to her breast, but Buffy didn’t think he was aware of it. But then she realized he hadn’t moved his hips, either, so maybe he was.

“Were you dreaming?” he asked softly. He didn’t have to clarify his question. Based on what she had already told him, there could only be one meaning behind it.

“No.” The tears were flowing again. “I woke up.”

When she felt his cool lips press to her neck, Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. This was wrong. She shouldn’t be letting him do this. She should never have agreed to sleep in this bed, and she should have let him roll over when he wanted to. Because this wasn’t her Spike. He didn’t care about her tears, or about how much she had missed him, or how proud she was about what he had done. By his own admission, she was a warm body, one he didn’t even particularly like.

So why were those words of reassurance coming from his mouth?

She opened her eyes back to the dark, listening to his whispers, listening to him paint pictures of how he imagined her life back in Rome was like. Talk of the sun, and the crowded streets, and the thrill of a good slay, and knowing she had a safe home to return to. And he spoke of how important she was to Giles, and to Joyce, and how neither of them would rest until she was happy again, returned to the life she knew best. Returned to the life she loved.

“You said before…you weren’t sure I’d be able to go back,” she broke in.

Behind her, Spike chuckled, and her body vibrated from the rhythm. “You know me so well, and you don’t know how my mouth runs away from me when I’m brassed off? Shame on you, Slayer.”

She smiled. “I also know how you have a way of cutting through the bullshit. It’s OK. I know it’s a possibility.”

His fingers began stroking along her side. “Better to focus on gettin' you out of here,” he said. “I wouldn’t wish this life on my worst enemy. Not even you, pet.”

Another reminder that this wasn’t her Spike. But this time, it didn’t make her cry.

“Do you think…” She stopped, sure it was the stupidest question to ever be asked by anyone in any dimension. “It won’t be that bad once we kill Adam,” she said instead. “Everybody will get their lives back, and you can all move on.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

She tensed at the uncertainty in his voice. “Isn’t that what you want?”

His soft exhalation made her hair tickle across her cheek. “More than anything,” Spike confessed. “But there’s still the chip. Can’t go back to the way things were. And Tara deserves more than bein’ saddled with me more than she has been.”

“Somehow, I don’t think she’d mind.” Buffy settled her arm over his, almost hugging him closer. “She loves you, Spike.”

“Doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve more,” he repeated. “I can’t give her what she needs. Not really. And I’m not goin’ to be the reason she holds herself back. What kind of life could she have, hangin’ about a vampire? Maybe if I was a girl, I could see it, but no. I want Tara to have more than that.”

Buffy had to bite her cheek to keep from speaking. This Spike might have balked at the notion of a soul, but he still exhibited the same concern and level of emotion that had driven her Spike even before he’d gone to Africa. In spite of everything, he wasn’t that different.

“Do me a favor when you get back to Rome.” For some reason, his arm around her tensed, as if he feared her response. “Know he’s your so-called boyfriend and all, but give the Immortal a good thump for me, would you? Whatever his reason for having Rupert’s clock, it’s bloody dangerous and you deserve a hell of a lot better.”

Hearing him reference Paolo had put her on the defensive, but the sentiment in his request eased it away again, drawing a sleepy smile back to Buffy’s lips. “I think a little thump in his direction wouldn’t hurt,” she agreed.

“Oh, well, it’s no fun if it doesn’t hurt him.”

This was banter she could take part in, a familiar shoe to slip on as if she’d never taken it off. “Well, maybe it can hurt a smidge. Just for you, Spike.”

He chuckled. “If it was really for me, you’d tear his bleedin’ head off. Git always thought he was so superior to the rest of the world. Would love to see you dismantle him piece by piece, Slayer.”

She was stopped from answering by a crystalline crash somewhere behind them, splitting the calm air. Buffy bolted upward, but Spike was already out of bed, turning on the lamp, before she could kick the blankets away from her legs.

The sudden illumination made her blink, squinting as she watched his pale form stalk across the room to the shelves, stopping short of the shards of glass that were scattered across the floor. More littered the waist-high shelf that it had originally rested upon. “Did something fall?” she asked.

Spike bent to pick up one of the larger pieces, the muscles in his back corded with tension. “In a fashion,” he murmured.

As he crouched, another of the spherical crystals on the same shelf spontaneously shattered, showering his hair and bare back in glass. Buffy leapt from the bed, to his side, brushing the fragments away before they could cut him, but Spike tore away from her attention to straighten. His brows were drawn, his body ready for a fight, and her stomach churned at the flickers within his eyes. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t anything familiar in Spike at all.

It was fear.

“Get dressed,” he barked before she could say anything.

He knocked her aside as he headed back to the bed and the clothes he’d discarded earlier. “What is it?” Buffy asked, grabbing her jeans and slipping them on. “What’s going on?”

“Need to get the others and get out of here,” he replied. He wasn’t looking at her, too busy with his clothes to bother. “The crystals are part of Tara’s security in this place. When they break, it means someone’s tryin’ to get in.”

Another crystal shattered behind Buffy. She glanced back and saw two remaining in the original grouping.

“Fuck,” Spike muttered. Opening the chest, he grabbed a battle axe and tossed it at her without looking. “Time’s wastin’, Slayer. They’re gettin' through, which means we don’t have much time left.”

“They?” She followed him out in the hall, hopping on one foot as she struggled to get her shoes on while balancing the weapon in her other hand. “Who do you think it is?”

His mouth was a thin line as he looked back at her over his shoulder. “Considering our little adventure earlier, my money’s on Finn. Told you he had a yen for Slayers. And if _I_ can’t even resist a morsel like you, you can bet your perky little bum he’s come to get you himself.” Spike’s mouth stretched into a mirthless smile. “Welcome to my world, luv.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Angel learned that Ilona was behind the original expedition to get the clock, and Buffy woke up disoriented, but Spike's calming of her was interrupted by somebody attacking the basement...

Watching Spike rouse the others left Buffy breathless. He moved with a feral efficiency from room to room, waking demons and humans alike, never wasting time, never squandering movement. He never even looked to see if she was behind him, though she was certain if someone had asked, he could have said exactly where she was at any given moment. She heard nothing but the sounds of the compound readying for flight, though every few minutes or so, the distant tinkle of a glass shattering echoed to her ear.

Giles’ door already stood open, a rumpled Tara pulling items from his shelves to bundle into her arms. Buffy caught her mother’s eyes for the second before the older woman turned away and began to shepherd a teenaged girl and a whippet-thin vampire down the hall, but there was no time for anything but the most fleeting of smiles. Even Giles was too busy growling at the steady stream of refugees to give her much notice.

She caught Spike’s arm when he took a load of supplies from Tara. “Where do you go?” she asked. “When the high school gets attacked. Where do you hide?”

He yanked himself away, almost dropping the bag of food Tara had handed him. “Now’s not the time for twenty questions,” he snapped. He jerked his head toward Giles’ retreating back. “Follow Rupert. You’ll see soon enough.”

There was no choice but to comply, taking more of Tara’s load before rushing after the others. Spike was close at her heels, and out of the corner of her eye, Buffy caught his gaze sweeping over her. He didn’t speak, though. He simply kept running.

Her heart leapt into her throat when she recognized the door leading to the sub-basement. Buffy stopped in her tracks, eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at it.

Spike halted almost immediately, scowling as he looked back at her. “Get a move on, Slayer. Takes time to get everybody to safety.”

That’s when it dawned on her. “You’re taking them into the Hellmouth?” she asked incredulous. “Are you insane?”

With a growl of frustration, he stalked back and tried to drag her along, only for Buffy to pull out of his grasp and withdraw a few more steps. “It’s the only place Finn and his boys won’t go,” he explained. “So if you don’t want to end up like the other Slayer, get your ass moving.”

“They won’t go there for good reason!” She couldn’t believe this was their only getaway plan. It had to have been Spike’s brilliant idea, because there was no way she could see Giles coming up with it. “Do you know what’s down there?” she continued. “Don’t tell me you don’t lose people every time you open it up. I’ve seen it, Spike. I know what it can do.”

His eyes burned with new anger. “Know bloody well what the risks are. But what you don’t know, Slayer, is what Adam does to the ones of us he captures. It’s not so much bein’ changed into one of his half-breeds any more. He hates what we represent, how long we’ve fought him. So he makes it a bit more personal.”

“And that’s worth sacrificing people to what’s in the Hellmouth?”

“Nobody who lives here isn’t aware of the danger. And if they’re not when they arrive, they find out soon enough.” He took a step closer. “We had one bloke, name of Andrew. Soppiest git I ever had the misfortune of knowin’. Always whingeing about this or that, but he was a dab hand with the magic and helped Tara, so I put up with him.”

Her blood chilled. Andrew’s face as she’d last seen him, smiling and arguing with Dawn about breakfast cereals, rose before her inner eye.

“We got attacked one night,” Spike continued. “Wasn’t expectin’ it, ‘cause the patrols had been light. Andrew got slowed down gettin' to safety because he’d been havin’ nightmares about the Hellmouth again. One of Adam’s teams got him, and the next time I saw the boy, it was a week later and he was strung up on our front step.” His lip curled with distaste. “There were so many pieces of him, it took us a week to collect ‘em all and get rid of them. There’s still blood on the flagpole.”

In spite of his vehemence, Buffy couldn’t bring her feet to move any closer to the doorway. It had been almost a year since the fight with the First, but the memories were far too fresh, especially faced with the ghosts she’d thought she left behind. There had to be another way.

“What if we stay and fight?” she argued. “You know this place better than anyone, and if we position ourselves right, we don’t have to take on more than a couple at a time. Can’t we do that?”

His astonishment at her suggestion made her wince. “Do you have a death wish I should know about?” Spike demanded. “’Cause it seems to me, you’ve been aiming to throw your life away ever since you got here.”

Tara appeared in the doorway behind Spike, her features tight and wan. “Hurry up,” she coaxed. “I don’t hear any more crystals which means they’ve managed to get through the last barrier.”

She was right. The only sounds Buffy could pick out were the faint pounds of heavy footsteps.

Taking a step closer, Buffy held Spike’s fervent gaze, hoping she could get him to understand. “I can’t go back down there,” she said, her voice low. “I told you my Hellmouth was closed, right? Well, part of why it’s closed was because of you, Spike. You didn’t want to hear this, but that’s where I lost you, and if you think for a second I’m going back and facing that, you have got to be the stupidest vampire to ever walk this dimension.”

The confession made him pause, his head tilting as her words sank in. Behind him, she heard Tara move closer, but Spike made no attempt to join her, too busy searching Buffy’s face for whatever answer he was seeking.

“Spike…?” Tara prompted.

His teeth clicked together as he straightened. “Get back inside,” he ordered. Turning on his heel, he thrust the supplies he carried into her arms, reaching back to take Buffy’s as well. “Keep the others safe.”

Tara’s sharp intake of breath was audible. “You can’t. It’s suicide. They’ll kill you.”

His gaze locked with Buffy’s. “And they’ll kill the Slayer even faster if I’m not here to help,” he replied, his voice flinty. “I mean it, pet. Get back inside.”

The rush of relief that flooded Buffy shocked her, but she swallowed down any temptation to let it show as Tara left them alone in the dark hall. “If there’s more weapons---,” she began, but the sudden circle of his fingers around her arm cut her off.

“Not fighting,” Spike said. He began to pull her along, down through twisted metal pipeworks that she didn’t recognize. When she tried to stop him, he added, “We can’t win. If we don’t go with the others, the only chance we have at survival is to hide. Be smart, Slayer. You know I’m right.”

She did. It didn’t make it easier to swallow, but this was his world, she had to yield to his better judgment.

She let him lead, disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

Dawn was beginning to break in London, but the tall buildings surrounding Giles’ home kept the deadly sun from encroaching, allowing Spike to follow Angel outside onto the front stairs. “Don’t s’pose you have a plan,” he commented, watching the other vampire toy with his phone.

“We can’t count on the jet to get us back to Rome,” Angel mused. “But we need to get to Ilona. And you heard Giles. If we had the clock, it would be easier for him to dissect the spell that was used on it.” He cast Spike a glance. “You couldn’t have stolen that, too, when you got Buffy out of the Immortal’s house?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Because an armful of Slayer wasn’t nearly enough. You couldn’t have sussed out Ilona had something to do with this before we scarpered off?”

Mention of Ilona had Angel looking at his phone again. “At least she’s finally stopped calling. I feel better about ignoring her if she’s not making me vibrate every five minutes.”

Spike ignored the easy poke at the vibrating phone and simply asked, “How long has it been since the last one?”

“Two hours.” Angel glanced at his watch. “Maybe she fell asleep.”

“We could only be so lucky,” Spike muttered. The two vampires stood in silence, watching the sky lighten in the distance. They would have to go back inside very quickly, though Spike didn’t fail to realize that months of living behind Wolfram and Hart’s specially treated windows was making him reckless with actual sunlight. The thought of retreating to darkness was less than appealing.

“I still think there was a reason she wanted to know about my problems with the Immortal,” Angel said, breaking the calm. “She was the one who brought it up. That can’t be an accid---.”

The door opened behind them, cutting him off. Daniel hovered on the threshold, fidgeting with the door knob as his gaze jumped between the two vamps.

“We’ve found it,” he stammered. “Well, Mr. Giles has, though I was the one who remembered where he had moved the Vama Antiquities---.”

“ _What_ did you find?” Spike interrupted. He had no idea how Rupert discovered these boys. This one was almost as bad as Andrew.

In spite of his nerves, Daniel’s eyes were bright. “How to break the dimensional stasis Ms. Summers is in, of course.”

* * *

They hovered around the bed, each positioned as Giles had ordered. Spike was having a difficult time standing still, the nervous energy in his limbs making the candle he held flicker in the darkened room. Angel stood on the other side of the bed, while Daniel was at the foot, allowing Giles the leeway to do whatever hocus pocus he needed with Buffy herself.

Her temperature hadn’t risen any more, but her heart rate was still too quick. In the throes of sex, it would have been more than acceptable, or even in the heat of battle. Lying comfortably in a darkened room, fast asleep, it was more than frightening. Spike didn’t know a lot about the specifics of human anatomy, but he did know hearts. If it kept working at this dangerous strain, Buffy risked having a heart attack, even as healthy as she was. As dangerous as her fever could get, that prospect was even more terrifying.

Giles cleared his throat before beginning to read the incantation he had copied. In all his vampire existence, Spike had never known anybody who kept as many seemingly worthless books lying around, but for once, he was glad that the Watcher’s incessant need for arcane knowledge had paid off. He had found a plethora of spells regarding dimensional crossing in the Vama Antiquities Daniel had located for him, easily narrowing it down to the one most likely to pull Buffy back. Well, the most likely with the ingredients he had on hand. There was one or two that might have worked better if they had a bit more time and a few other magical relics lying about.

As Giles spoke, the air began to shimmer around the bed, like looking through crystal clear water that was being slightly disturbed. The hair stood up on the back of Spike’s neck when he caught a whiff of stale air, dank and familiar with nightmares, and his hand shook as it held the candle. Angel’s head shot up, a frown on his face as he wordlessly chastised Spike for daring to move, but Spike was too wrapped up in the tendrils of trepidation crawling along his skin to care.

He knew that smell. Had lived with it for months while the dead danced around him. Had drowned in it while he waited for hell to swallow him up. Few scents could elicit such strong reactions in Spike, but then again, those first few months after he’d regained his soul would forever be pivotal in his existence.

Giles’ voice grew louder, the air thicker, and Spike felt like the world was pressing in around him. His ears buzzed with the magic, and in the miasma now surrounding Buffy, he could’ve sworn he felt the distant tattoo of marching footsteps. Against the pillows, Buffy began to twitch in her sleep, her breathing turning into rapid pants as if she was running, hard, in flight of some sort. Every instinct in Spike wanted to scream at Giles to stop, but he couldn’t move, locked in his own delusional stasis where the Sunnydale High School basement loomed around him, and the rats in the walls were determined to feast on him instead of the other way around.

A loud crack split the air.

All three candles blew out at the same time.

Something cold slithered around Spike’s bare forearms, and he snatched his hands back, dropping the extinguished candle onto the bed. He rubbed furiously at his skin, trying to get the feeling back, trying to banish the memories of the basement at the same time. The lights came on as Giles turned on the lamp, but when Spike lifted his head to see if Buffy was awake, he found all eyes on him.

Angel was the first to speak. “What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t see it?” His eyes jumped from one man to the next, before returning back to Angel. “Don’t tell me you didn’t bloody notice _something_.” At Angel’s continued blank stare, Spike prodded, “The smell? The marching?”

“The only thing I saw was Buffy beginning to stir,” Angel said. His eyes turned to her. “But she’s still out cold.”

“What exactly did you see?” Giles prompted.

Spike’s hands stilled, suddenly self-conscious about the way he was attempting to rub away the effects of the magic. Had they really not noticed? How could he have been the only one?

“Think I know where she might be,” he said. Briefly, he described what he’d experienced, leaving out the details of his own time spent in the basement. He knew Giles was mildly aware of what had transpired, but there was no reason for Angel to know any more than he already did. The insanity that had plagued Spike was a cross he bore mostly in private.

“Why would Spike experience that and not us?” Daniel asked Giles.

Giles shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Perhaps because of his ties to the location. He’s the only one of us to have intimate knowledge of the school’s basement, though, for the life of me, I can’t imagine why Buffy would be there. The school was destroyed years before the Hellmouth collapsed. If I understand correctly, the spell on the clocks merely captured dimensions, not acted as a conduit back in time. Is that right?”

“Yeah.” Angel tossed his candle aside. “Though considering how much else the Immortal and Ilona held back, maybe we can’t trust that.”

“Do you think that’s it?” Spike asked. “We don’t know what the original mojo was so your stasis spells won’t work?”

Giles sighed and set the incantation aside. “No. I think the spell is exactly what we need. I couldn’t see or hear what Spike did, but I could feel Buffy. It felt like…” He sat on the edge of the bed, gently picking up her wrist as he checked her pulse. Spike didn’t know why he didn’t ask. He could’ve told Rupert it was still racing like a bunny with a fox at its tail.

“It felt like a tug of war,” Giles tried again. “I was pulling her out of the stasis, but there was resistance, as if something was pulling her back. If I didn’t know better, I would say…I would say it was _Buffy_ who was stopping me.”

“Buffy?” Angel echoed. “Why would she be trying to stop you from bringing her back?”

“I don’t know.”

All attention focused on the Slayer in the bed, and Spike wrapped his arms around himself, his nerve endings prickling. He didn’t want to consider the implications of why Buffy wouldn’t want to come back.

He only knew he was going to do whatever he had to to make sure she did.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy balked at hiding on the Hellmouth, so Other!Spike agreed to hide with her elsewhere, while Giles found a spell that would wake Buffy, though it failed...

Buffy didn’t fight Spike’s lead. Not when her foot splashed through a puddle of something that was too sticky to be water. Not when he made her slither through a stack of blackened debris that tore the front of her shirt. Not even when she heard the pounding footsteps suddenly sound behind her.

She fought when she saw the stairs looming ahead of them, nearly lost by twisted pipework and slabs of concrete.

Jerking from his circled grip, Buffy halted at the bottom of the stairs, staring aghast when he began to bound over the blockage. “Those go up,” she hissed. “More importantly, those go out.”

His face was shrouded in shadows. “They do,” he agreed. “But we’re not. You’ve trusted me this far, Slayer. Bit pointless to stop at this point.”

Her lips became a thin, white line. Stupid Spike logic.

When she didn’t move right away, he snarled in frustration and leapt back down to her side. In the distance, the walls vibrated from the force of doors being thrown open and closed. A man’s shout echoed from the dark. Buffy knew she had to make a choice quickly; the intruders were getting closer.

“Finn’s goin’ to think we’re either down here or that we’ve fled,” Spike said. He jabbed a finger back toward the stairs. “Those open into the cafeteria. The south wall’s been blown off so it’s a clean shot out toward the mall and about a thousand hidey-holes. Anybody with an iota of sense would run straight there.”

“Which means we’re not. Because you think he’d expect that.”

“I _know_ he will. But the kitchen’s still mostly intact, and the freezer still has its door. We can lock it from the inside. Wait ‘em out.” He rolled his eyes. “And before you start whingeing about bein’ turned into a Slayer-sicle, it hasn’t had power in years. Pretty much a metal box. With shelves.”

It was taking a risk. There was no guarantee that Riley wouldn’t search the cafeteria before sending teams to check elsewhere. Locking themselves at a dead end turned them into sitting ducks if Spike was wrong.

Buffy met his even gaze. There wasn’t even a flicker.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Her climb wasn’t as graceful as his nor was it as quiet. Once, a pipe rolled out from beneath her foot, but before it could clatter to a stair below, Spike’s hand was there, snatching it from the air. He didn’t set it down, though. He brandished it as another weapon as they continued to climb.

Cool air brought a rush of goosebumps to Buffy’s exposed skin, and when she saw the sun licking its way over the jagged foundation, panic added to her heightened senses. She pushed past Spike as if to shield him from whatever light she could, but he was already slipping around the wall, following the shadows to where she remembered the kitchen had been. Buffy stepped toward him only to pivot on her heel and go back, drawing Spike to a halt as well.

“Wrong way, Slayer,” he said.

She grabbed the edge of a gritty concrete block and began to drag it across the doorway from which they’d come. “If we’re going to hide, there’s nothing wrong about a barricade.”

Spike caught on immediately, coming back to help her push. The noise seemed horrific after the hollow echoes of the basement, but Buffy didn’t dwell on it, blocking the exit as quickly as she could. She didn’t know how well they knew the high school ruins, but maybe it would be enough for the demon hybrids to think it was impossible for them to flee that way.

There were no more words or hesitations as Spike led the way to the freezer. The moment the door was locked behind them, however, Buffy sagged against the wall and slid down it, sighing loudly as she rested her head in her hands.

“If you end up being wrong, I am so kicking your ass,” she muttered.

The sound of his low chuckle surprised her, and Buffy looked up to see Spike saunter toward her, taking the bare spot on the floor at her side. It put both of them out of sight of the small window in the door; as long as they stayed put, there was a shot that even if the demons looked in, they would go unnoticed.

“You’re the one all antsy about the Hellmouth,” he replied. “You could be all comfy cozy, tucked away where Finn can’t get at you. But no, you have to go and be all ‘let’s fight, Spike’ and ‘don’t make me go there, Spike.’ You’re a bloody piece of work, you know that?”

“And oddly enough, not even close to being the worst thing you’ve ever called me.”

His thigh pressed alongside hers, familiar and comforting, and his fingertips brushed against her where he rested his hands on his legs. “Thin line, I s’pose. I’ll wager you probably drove the other me bug-shagging crazy.”

The corner of Buffy’s mouth lifted. “That bet is so safe, I’d even let Dawn make it on her life. Nobody ever got under my skin like Spike could. Or, you know. You.”

They fell into silence, the thick walls of the freezer muffling any outside sounds. Buffy couldn’t even feel the vibrations of the attacking demons any more, but the thought of going out to see if they were still there left her stomach in knots. Only the calm presence of Spike at her side kept her from getting up to peer out the small window to check to see if they were outside, see if they were approaching. Well, that, and the realization that she’d have to jump in order to see out it and she didn’t want to look even more ridiculous in front of Spike.

Buffy had no idea how long they sat like that. All she knew was that her ass was going numb. And that in the closed quarters of the broken freezer, Spike smelled miles better than the musty boxes that were stored on the shelves around the periphery.

“Wish I’d grabbed my fags,” Spike muttered out of the blue.

She glanced over. He was rolling the iron bar he’d picked up between his fingers, every once in awhile stopping to hold it as if it was a cigarette. “How long do you think we’ll have to stay in here?” she asked.

“’Til Tara comes and fetches us.”

Shock at his response drove her to her feet. His tight hand around her wrist dragged her back down.

Buffy landed with a thump across his hard thighs, jarring her pelvis and making her spine vibrate. She rocked backward, off-balance, but Spike’s arm shot around the small of her back to keep her upright.

“Let me go,” she hissed.

“Stop acting like a ninny and I’ll consider it.” His jaw was tight, the muscles twitching. “Pokin’ your head out too soon is goin’ to get it cut off,” Spike warned. “Tara’s the only one to know when they’re gone, and I’m not about to make this even easier for Finn by handing you over to him because you can’t keep your ass still for five minutes.” His grip around her tightened when she began to struggle, his fingers digging painfully into her side. “Will you bloody well stop that?”

She couldn’t get a strong enough position to break free of him, and it occurred to her that the knowledge that he wouldn’t get zapped by using force had Spike doing everything possible to keep her still. Beneath her bottom, she felt the growing line of his erection, but not even that was enough to cut through her frustration.

“This is just asking to be found,” she spluttered as she fought. “And who knows how long Tara is going to be? Does she even know where to find us? We could be stuck in here for days---.”

His mouth slamming to hers made her choke on her words. It was probably just a ploy to shut her up, like she had used on him earlier, but the familiar thrust of his tongue past her lips had Buffy forgetting all about her concerns, forgetting all about the stale freezer, forgetting all about the demon soldiers traipsing around underground in search of her. She stopped struggling in order to mold to his lean chest, her free arm sliding around his neck to keep him from pulling away, and within seconds of her response, Spike was slowing the kiss, forcing her to slow as well, deepening it into something hungrier and needier than either had previously demanded.

Her head spun. This was wrong. On so many levels. This was not her Spike and using him as a substitute wasn’t fair to either of them.

But he wanted her. There was no denying that. He could argue about blame and smoldering hate and how she was responsible for each and every second of his miserable existence since coming back to Sunnydale as much as he wanted, but Buffy knew that the prospect of fucking her could outweigh any of his other predilections, given enough encouragement.

And she _wanted_ to encourage him. After everything, after nightmares and mourning and hopes and unfulfilled promises, she thought she deserved a chance to be selfish, an opportunity to grab a few minutes from the not so long ago past. She wanted _this_. She wanted Spike.

He twisted to bend her to the floor, one arm still secure around her back while the other slid between their bodies to find her aching breasts. Buffy moaned into the kiss when he flicked a thumb over a hard nipple, and she slid her hands down, fingers disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans, to dig into the soft skin of his hips.

Spike broke from the kiss, but didn’t lift up, his teeth and tongue trailing down her jaw to the hollow of her throat. She heard his growl of hunger and seconds later felt the sharp suck of his mouth against her pulse, his cock grinding against her thigh. There were no teeth, though. Buffy didn’t know if that was because he feared reprisal should he bite her or years of conditioning to the chip, but either way, she was mildly grateful. That was one memory she didn’t need added to the arsenal to confuse things further for her. It was better to keep this as a purely physical attraction.

Her fingers twisted in his loose curls. “Don’t stop,” she whispered. If he stopped this time, Buffy was sure she was going to embarrass herself by forcing him to fuck her.

She felt each movement of his lips against her skin when he replied. “Hadn’t planned on it, pet.”

The hand on her breast trailed downward, finding the hem of her shirt and pulling it upward so that the flat expanse of her stomach was exposed. Spike left her throat to begin kissing down the slope of her breast, sucking through her top until the fabric was soaked, then continuing onward until he finally reached soft, tanned skin. The tip of his tongue found her navel and traced it almost delicately, but it was the dancing of his fingertips along her waist that had Buffy squirming in his hold.

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from begging for more. While there was hunger in every slide of Spike’s mouth, each stroke of lingering fingers, his deliberate attacks were the work of someone who wanted to savor every second. He had been like this more than once that year they’d been together, but the memory that stood out most vividly was the afternoon she’d sought him out when Riley was in town. Buffy had gone to Spike, needing to feel loved, and he had exceeded her demands in every which way, drawing her pleasure out before she’d finally passed out on the sarcophagus.

This was much the same. Except Buffy realized that it was this Spike’s craving for intimacy that was being satiated this time.

Her breath grew ragged, echoing against the metallic walls, as he undid her pants, his mouth never leaving the surface of her skin. She tightened her hand in his hair, fingertips contouring around the curve of his skull, and lifted her hips when he tugged to free her legs from her clothing. Tiny nibbles followed the broad sweeps of his tongue, and then his hands were on her inner thighs, spreading her legs, a thumb hooking around the elastic band of her underwear in order to expose her to his onslaught.

“Don’t think I’ve had a feast like this in years,” she heard Spike murmur. Buffy glanced down and saw him staring at her, eyes darkened with desire. “If I thought you smelled good before…”

She gasped as he bent his head and dragged his tongue over her opening, skimming over her clit before going back down again. When he lifted his head this time, his mouth and chin were glistening from her juices.

“Like honeyed fire,” he said, licking his lips clean. “Think I’m beginning to see what the attraction might have been.”

His words were a sharp reminder of their circumstances, a dash of cold water on her raging libido, but when Buffy bucked beneath him to get free, Spike’s grip clamped around her midsection, keeping her in place.

“You want to fight me?” From the tone and volume of his voice, his obvious incredulity was only outweighed by his delight. The thumb he had holding her panties out of his way suddenly jerked, and she felt the flimsy fabric come free of her hips. “What happened to ‘don’t stop,’ Slayer? You want this as much as I do.”

Though her position was awkward, Buffy pushed herself up on her elbows. “You _hate_ me,” she reminded.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And you know I’m not the Spike you lost. Fail to see what that has to do with either of us wanting to shag the other’s brains out.”

“If that’s all you wanted, you wouldn’t have wasted time going down on me.”

His mouth curved into a sly grin, though there was still anger glinting in his eyes. “And miss this treat?”

Without breaking away from her gaze, his head dipped, his jaw dropping almost in slow motion as he dragged his tongue between her slick folds. Buffy shivered in spite of her ever-shifting resolve, and her thighs clenched around his shoulders.

“Know nothin’ good will come of this,” he was murmuring against her skin. His tongue continued to work, sliding between her inner and outer lips as he traced her opening. “Know you’re leaving, know you wish I was someone else, know none of this is goin’ to do a bloody thing to fix what’s wrong.”

Her knees were suddenly forced wider when Spike slid back up her body, the rough edge of his zipper scratching across her bare skin. When he came level to her face again, she was transfixed by the hungry glow in his eyes, barely aware of his rapid fumbling with his jeans. His mouth was so close to hers that she could smell the scent of her pussy on his lips.

“Know all that,” Spike whispered. His body tensed over hers. “Don’t care.” With one forceful thrust, he buried his cock inside her.

* * *

Angel sprawled in the leather chair in the corner of Giles’ study, trying not to look obvious as he watched the Watchers search through their books for another possible solution. Spike was still up in Buffy’s room. The effects of the failed spell had left him rattled, pacing around the bed like a caged animal until Angel felt like throwing him down and chaining him up just to keep him still. Spike had even refused to leave when the others had announced the need for more research. Whatever he had seen and felt had been potent stuff, though why Spike had experienced it and he hadn’t, Angel had no idea. It was fucking annoying.

He sighed.

When it came to Buffy and Spike, Angel suspected there was a lot he wouldn’t understand.

A sudden vibration against his thigh snapped him from his dark reverie. He had long ago muted the sound on his phone, but because he needed to keep in contact with Wes, he couldn’t turn it off altogether. With a sigh, he pulled it out, hoping that when he looked at the display, he’d see a number from LA rather than Rome.

Angel frowned. It was neither. The exchange was a local one, though the caller was unidentified.

Pressing “talk,” he put the phone to his ear. “This is Angel.”

“Finally, you answer.” He sagged back into the chair at the sound of Ilona’s voice. “You make me worry, Angelus. You disappear from Rome, you disappear from the airport, you do not answer your phone. A girl could take such reactions the wrong way.”

His jaw hurt from how tightly he was clenching it. Fuck. Ilona was in London, probably to do the dirty work personally. “I’m not bringing Buffy back. She’s not some piece of property the Immortal can lay claim to, you know.”

“I know. And I did not ask you to return the Slayer.”

Her quick rebuttal made him pause. “Oh. Well, then.” The static of the line filled his ear for a moment while his thoughts raced, and he stiffened as another possibility arose. “Don’t think I’m letting him anywhere near her here, either,” he warned. “She’s safe, and she’ll stay that way while my people work on how to fix this.”

“You have little time,” Ilona said. “Perhaps twelve hours at the most. Do you think your people will find the solution you seek before it is too late?”

There was more to her carefully chosen words than she was letting on. A tendril of alarm began to wind through Angel’s gut. “What do you know that I don’t?” he asked. “If you tell me you’ve known all along how to wake her up---.”

“No, no, it is not that simple. What I know is the spell that was used on the clock.”

His conversation had garnered Giles’ attention, drawing him from the other side of the room to listen intently. At the Watcher’s frown, Angel covered the mouthpiece and said, “It’s Ilona. She says she knows the original spell. Will that help you?”

Giles considered it a moment. “It would. Of course, it would be beneficial to have the clock itself---.”

“Consider it done,” Ilona said in Angel’s ear.

He turned his attention back to the phone. “What did you say?”

“The clock. I have it. If you tell me where you are, I shall bring it to you, as well as a copy of the original spell. We can discuss my…payment afterward.”

He shouldn’t. Common sense told him it was suicide to commit to this deal. Ilona had been playing a different game from him from the start, and without the rules, Angel was flying blind. Besides, Giles was a smart man; he’d find the answer for Buffy eventually.

Angel’s eyes strayed to the ceiling.

The question was, though, would he find it in time?

His voice was clipped when he finally spoke.

“Bring it.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Other!Spike hid in a broken freezer above ground, and their bickering erupted into sex, while Angel agreed to make a deal with Ilona in order to get the clock and help Giles save Buffy...

They both froze the instant he was fully sheathed inside her pussy. Memories and dreams were all well and good, but those were pale imitations of the real thing, his thick length filling and stretching her, the coarse rasp of hair against her clit as he did that little rolly thing with his hips. Buffy’s heart hammered inside her chest as she waited for Spike to move, to do anything, but he seemed as stuck in the moment as she was.

Though his mouth worked as if to speak, no sound came out, his throat convulsing as he swallowed, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. It drew her eyes away from his, and without thought, Buffy lifted her head to claim him in a kiss.

At the worst of times, it had always been their language of choice. It didn’t matter which dimension they were in.

His strong hands tightened on her hips as he kissed her back, finally allowing his body to take control and begin pulling out of her. She marveled at his restraint. Though he had ploughed into her with tremendous force, Spike took his time with his exit, stopping only when the head of his cock was still in her. His second stroke was just as strong as the first, though, and it was that soft then bruising rhythm that soon had them rocking against the cold floor of the freezer.

“Been so bloody long,” she heard him murmur, but something inside told Buffy that the words were meant more for his ears than hers. Just as the repeated endearments, lost between kisses, swallowed by caresses, were more about his loneliness than any direct reflection on his actual partner. She had to block them out before they got to her. Listening would lead to believing, and there was no way she could allow that to happen.

Instead she focused on the physical, on the way his cock hit that one spot inside her, on the continuous slide of his hands over her skin once their rhythm was established. She honed in on the cool glide of his mouth along her chin, how he loved to nip at that tender spot at the back of her jaw, how his tongue traced sinew and vein in paths she couldn’t anticipate. The coolness of the floor and freezer was forgotten as her core temperature rose, responding to friction of skin against skin, cock into pussy, and the only sound discernible – once she ignored Spike’s voice – was the roar of her own blood rushing in her ears.

It was enough to forget where they were. It was enough to forget who she was. It wasn’t enough to forget who it wasn’t bearing her into the floor.

Buffy buried her face in his neck, arms coiled painfully tight around his back, as Spike began to quicken his strokes. The short, sharp gasps that substituted for breath made her lungs burn, but they were the best she could manage as everything tightened to a knot inside her, flesh ready to unfurl, skin ready to spring. It only took the return of Spike’s mouth to hers and the abrupt shift of angle in his hips for her to come, dizzy and unrelenting as her orgasm exploded within her.

He came seconds later, but whether he’d been holding off on waiting for hers or it was her clamping around his cock that had triggered it, Buffy didn’t know. She was too busy drowning in the memories that suddenly swamped her to care about analyzing it, trying desperately to stay rooted in the here and the now.

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered. He kept himself from collapsing atop her by propping himself up on his knuckles, but it didn’t stop him from resting his forehead to hers. His eyes were closed, his mouth soft, and Buffy couldn’t resist the temptation to tilt her head and give him one last kiss. “Didn’t expect it to be like that.”

“If I haven’t figured out what feels good for you by now,” she joked lightly, “then I was doing something seriously wrong all the time we were together.”

His lashes lifted at that, blue eyes uncharacteristically dark, even in the shadows of the freezer. “Tell me something, pet. Which came first? The feelings or the fucking?”

He was still trying to resolve the issue of them being together, she could tell. And since she’d already made it clear that she hadn’t loved Spike when they’d been together, Buffy knew he was referring to his counterpart’s situation with his queries, not hers.

“The feelings,” she admitted. “I don’t know when exactly, but then Spike didn’t either, he told me. I just know that I found he loved me months before anything physical happened between us. Well, except for that time we got engaged, but that doesn’t count because that was one of Willow’s spells.”

A brow quirked. “Seems like you’ve got your fair share of stories to tell.”

In spite of herself, Buffy smiled. “I thought you weren’t interested in my stories.”

“I’m not. I’m just---.”

A muffled crash outside the closed door made both of them jump, and Spike tore away from her almost painfully as he leapt to his feet. Buffy scrabbled for her pants as he did himself up, but she had only started to slip them back on again when Tara’s voice called from the other side.

“Spike? They’re gone. You can come out now.”

He glanced back, waiting for Buffy nod of approval before replying. “Be right there.” To Buffy, he said, “Whenever you’re ready.”

The moment she was dressed again, Spike opened the door, cursing under his breath and jumping out of the way when a swathe of sunlight cut across the entrance. Tara’s murmured apology came before Buffy could actually see her, and then darkness seemed to fall again, cooling the brightness and darkening the danger so that they could dare the door once again.

If Tara noticed the state of her clothing, she didn’t say a word. Behind her, Giles was busy holding up a blanket that blocked out the worst of the sun, shielding Spike so he could emerge.

“It’s not good,” she said, answering Spike’s unasked question.

The quartet began shuffling toward the doorway to go back down to the basement. Buffy noticed that the barricade they had placed was tossed aside like kindling. Yay for Fyarl strength, she thought wryly.

“They trashed most of the living quarters, and over half our supplies are decimated,” Tara continued. “We thought for awhile they might actually try and brave coming into the Hellmouth, but they finally turned back.”

“You do that?”

Tara shook her head at Spike’s question. “I don’t know what made them change their minds. But…we lost Clare and Benny. In all the rush, I didn’t realize they weren’t in the Hellmouth with us until I’d already sealed the entryway. Giles found some of Benny’s blood in their room, and Clare’s dust was all over the bed. We think they tried to hide, but the soldiers got to them anyway.”

She didn’t know who Clare and Benny were, but from Spike’s resigned sigh, she could tell that they’d been valued members of their little community. Buffy had to fight not to reach out and take his hand in reassurance.

They climbed down the stairs that led back to the bowels of the basement in silence. Nobody spoke until they heard the voices drifting from deeper in.

“This has got to stop,” Spike said. His voice was low and determined, the muscles tight in his jaw. “It’s only goin’ to get worse. There’s no way Finn can resist Slayer-bait, and even if we manage to get her back to her own world, he’s not goin’ to believe she’s not here unless he kills her or takes her in. The raids won’t stop.”

Giles growled behind them, drawing a shake of Spike’s head in response.

“No, we’re goin’ to find that spell she talked of.” He glanced to Buffy. “Hope you’re up for some heavy reading, Slayer. Because I’m not letting you away from the books until we’ve got what we need to stop Adam, once and for all.”

* * *

Spike stood between the bed and everybody else, dark brows drawn together into a furious line as he glared at Angel’s back. It was bloody ridiculous to trust Ilona at this point; he didn’t care how urgent their situation was. The fact that she’d followed them to London with everything they needed to wake Buffy up was more than cause for alarm in his book. It reeked of a set-up. Only problem was, Angel had made his decision, and once that was done, there was no changing it. Especially when Rupert had practically wet himself when he saw the original spell done on the clock. Spike knew he was outnumbered, even if he was the only one left with an ounce of sense on the matter.

The three of them stood at the small desk against the far wall, looking over copies of the two spells, heads bowed and voices mere murmurs. Beyond the closed drapes, the morning sun was creeping across London, a reminder that time was slowly betraying them, running through the hourglass faster than they could catch it. Spike wanted to shout in frustration, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Angel had already threatened to kick him out of the room if he did it again, Spike would have. He was almost ready to do it anyway.

He settled for a menacing growl.

“Should I send the boy for tea?” he complained. “Seein’ as how we’re making a day of tryin’ to do something for Buffy here.”

Angel shot him a dirty look over his shoulder. “I told you to can it, Spike.”

“That was half an hour ago. All you’ve done is go back and forth, nattering on about nonsense. This isn’t brainstorming for Buffy. This is Oprah’s bloody Book Club.”

Ilona peeled herself away from where she had been pressed to Angel’s arm, but as she stepped toward the bed, Spike moved to prevent her from getting any nearer. “You do not believe I wish to help,” she said, curiosity in her tone.

Spike folded his arms over his chest. “No, I bloody well don’t.”

“Why?”

His brows shot up. “You mean, other than the fact that you don’t have anything now than you did in Rome but you’re only now stepping forward? Can’t see a single reason why.”

“But I do.” Her smile was ingratiating. Spike had no idea why Angel continued to fall for her smooth talk. “Taking the Immortal’s amour put you into a position of power, Spike. Surely you know this? I had the original spell, yes, and my people, they were busy searching for a means to fix what is broken. But this they cannot do if the Slayer is not there for them to use it upon, do you not see?”

He wasn’t going to succumb to her smooth logic. Ilona was one of them, through and through. He had to keep telling himself that.

“Doesn’t say why you have the clock,” he argued.

“No, it doesn’t.”

Though he waited for her to elaborate, nothing came, making Spike snort and shake his head. “You’re not goin’ to make me ask.”

Ilona shrugged. “It is a tool. And we wish the Slayer to be awakened as badly as you, or Angelus, or the Immortal does. The Immortal understands this and gave me what was necessary to bargain for her life.”

“Let it go, Spike.” Angel moved away from the desk to stand at Ilona’s side. “The important thing is that we have everything we need to snap Buffy out of this.”

“Then why isn’t she awake yet?”

“I think I know,” Giles said softly. With a book cradled in his hand, he stepped away from the desk and approached the others, his lined face lacking any of his earlier relief at the additional aid. “Our original assumptions were correct. Our spell should have worked, except something is tying Buffy to the other dimension. As long as that tie is there, she will not awaken.”

“So we sever the tie,” Angel said. “Easy.”

“Not quite.” Giles handed the book over and pointed to a passage. “Buffy is the only one who can do that. The clock is constructed from her past, her choices. That’s why it doesn’t work to transport any of the rest of us when we touch it. All the power of it rests in her hands.”

“Could she be hurt?” Spike asked. “Could that be what’s stopping her?”

Giles shrugged. “It could be anything. It could be as simple as the fact that she’s in Sunnydale again, or it could be something else entirely. Without being there, there’s no way for us to know.”

Silence followed the announcement. Even Ilona seemed uncharacteristically subdued.

“Well, that’s easy then.” Spike lifted his chin. “One of us has to go tell Buffy what’s up. Tell her she’s bollocksing things by not letting go.”

Giles started shaking his head before Spike had even finished speaking. “We can’t use the clock that way,” he said. “And we have no idea how to pinpoint what dimension Buffy is actually in. Without that information, any one of us could end up stranded someplace completely different.”

“But we do know.” Walking back to the desk, Angel picked up the clock and turned it over, exposing the date. “Buffy didn’t make choices in a vacuum. That’s what always set her apart. She had friends, family. There has to be somebody around who would’ve been affected by whatever choice she made that split that dimension off from this one.”

“Let me check on something…” The small group followed Giles as he left the bedroom to head to a bedroom across the hall, where a computer sat on a small desk near the doorway. It took a few minutes of fumbling at the keyboard, during which time everybody – not just Spike – began to fidget, but eventually, he nodded as if he’d reached an answer.

“Yes,” Giles said. “That’s what I thought. The date is Thanksgiving of that year, which explains why it’s my old clock the dimension’s been created from. If we could construct another portal attuned to me, I could go through and tell Buffy what she needs to do.”

“And how do we know that her choice would directly affect you?” Ilona asked. “I do not wish to seem the naysayer, but it’s very likely you could end up in the same dilemma as the Slayer.”

“I wouldn’t be tied---.”

“Ilona’s right.” Spike didn’t flinch as all eyes turned to him. “You can’t be the one to go through.”

“I have to be,” Giles argued. “I’m the only one here. Xander’s still in Africa, Willow’s in Bolivia, and Angel never actually encountered Buffy that day.” He shot a worried glance to the other vampire. “You… _didn't_ see Buffy that Thanksgiving, correct?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Spike interrupted. “I did. Tied to a chair while she went about turning the baddies into bears, remember? And I’m the one who heard the bits about the basement when we tried to wake her up. Think it’s clear who should be the one to go through.” When the voices started to rise in argument, he shook his head, turning on his heel to head back to Buffy’s room. “Chop, chop, Rupes. Time’s a-ticking. Literally.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Other!Spike bonded, returning with fresh determination to put everything to a stop, while back in London, they decide Spike is the only choice to go in and let Buffy know what's going on so that she'll let go and return to her real time before it's too late...

She lasted for an hour before her ass started going numb and her mind started to wander. It was hard not to listen to the sounds of reconstruction happening around her, voices rising in laughter in spite of the horror that had spread throughout the community just that morning, furniture being scraped along floors and walls being jostled as things were placed upright. Spike and Tara seemed oblivious to it all, though. They simply sat on their bed, backs against the wall, and passed books back and forth without a word when they were done with them.

Buffy watched them out of the corner of her eye. They moved like an old married couple, answering requests without words, changing paths instinctively to avoid collision. It made her wish it wasn’t the three of them in Spike and Tara’s room, but Giles had gone off to help the others clean up. Apparently, it was decided that his strength was of better use there than the clumsiness he had in going through their few remaining books. She would have made the same excuse, but one dark glower from Spike had made her jaw snap shut. She wasn’t in the mood for fighting with him right now.

The sex had been a bad idea. She knew that. She was pretty sure Spike knew it. Buffy wasn’t sure if Tara was aware of what had happened, but she had caught Giles’ narrowed stare more than once on their trek back into the basement, so she was mostly certain he knew, too. All she needed now was a sign to hang around her neck declaring, “Wanna sleep with Spike? Ask me how!”

“I’ve got it. I really think this is it.”

Buffy’s head snapped up at Tara’s voice, but Spike was already taking the book away from the witch, skimming the passage she was marking with a slim finger. His mouth settled into a firm line, and as Buffy rose to cross the room to the side of the bed, that line curved into a tight smile.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

“Let me see,” Buffy said, holding out her hand for the book.

Wordlessly, he passed it over. His eyes were dark with unspoken emotion, and a shiver of nervous fear slithered down Buffy’s spine. She recognized that face. It was the grim face of determination, the same he wore before a fight he knew would be hard but win-able, the same she’d seen more than once when he’d taunted her about their relationship. This time it wasn’t for her, though. This time, the force of his emotion was directed at Adam and his hybrids. Hell was about to be repaid.

One glance at the spell was all it took for Buffy to realize that she was of little to no use on this front. It was in whatever non-English language it had been the first time around; she’d forgotten about that little detail. Still, she nodded as if she could understand what it said.

“So the next step is to get close enough to Adam to actually use this,” Buffy said. “We’re going to have to coordinate with Giles about our battle plans.”

“Who’s going to do it?” Tara’s eyes were wide and curious. “The spell, I mean. You said…it was Giles, Willow, and Xander?”

Buffy nodded. “I figure Giles can still do it. And you can take Willow’s place.” Her gaze flickered to Spike. “You OK being the third?”

His mouth was a thin line. He looked like he wanted to argue with her, but after a long moment, he simply nodded in kind.

Tara was the first to move, climbing from the bed with book in tow. “I want to go show this to Giles,” she said, slipping on her loafers. “And then I’m going to grab some breakfast and bring it back here. You want something, Buffy?”

She didn’t miss the lack of invitation to join Tara. “Whatever you’ve got. Thanks.”

Her heart began pounding as soon as the door clicked softly shut behind her.

“Hate it when she does that,” Spike grumbled. Stretching, he grabbed his jacket from the chair at the foot of the bed and fumbled around in the pocket, pulling out his lighter and cigarettes.

“Does what?”

His gaze was flinty as he stuck one cigarette between his lips. “She thinks she’s helping us work out whatever it is she thinks needs working,” he said around it. His mouth tightened as he lit up, the sudden flare of scarlet flushing the dark shadows of his face. “That whole Mother Earth vibe she cultivates can be bloody annoying sometimes.”

“Do you…” She stopped. She had always sucked at talking to Spike, except when she got into the big speeches that last year before he’d died. And then, it wasn’t so much talking to Spike as it was talking at him. “So you’re telling me she knows you and I…” Her cheeks pinked, and she sank onto the edge of the mattress. “Great.”

He looked for a moment as if he was going to push her off the bed, but instead moved further from her reach, plucking a broken mug from the floor to use as an ashtray. “Didn’t mean anything,” he said. His voice was almost too casual. “We both know that.”

“Right,” Buffy said quickly. “You made that clear before we…in the middle of…after, well, yeah. You made that clear.”

Spike took a long drag from his cigarette. Though he turned his head to exhale, his eyes never left her face. “You have a different opinion?”

She didn’t know what her opinion was any more, but she shook her head anyway. “It’s like you said. You’re not the Spike I know.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. His long lashes ducked, his fingers rolling his cigarette as he seemed to contemplate his next words. When he spoke, his words were hushed. “But you’re not the Buffy I know, either.”

Her heart clenched. She didn’t move. She couldn’t.

“I’m not sayin’ that makes things better,” he went on. “I’m sayin’…if you’re stuck here good and proper, won’t do for me to keep thinking of you as her. We should…start over. Fresh.” He smirked. “I can hate you all over again for brand new reasons.”

Buffy laughed, grateful for the release of tension. “Sounds like a plan. But only if I get stuck here, of course.”

“Of course.”

Waiting for Tara to come back with breakfast was a hell of a lot easier after that.

* * *

It pissed Angel off a little bit that it ended up being so easy. Giles did a little chant, the Watcher wannabe burned some incense, and there it was. A dimensional portal. Those kind of things should have been harder, damn it. People’s lives could be turned upside down and inside out by those kind of places. Connor was proof of that, not to mention Lorne and Cordy and…

He had to snarl at Spike in order to stop his thoughts from getting any darker. And even then, the bastard merely flipped him off, reached out and touched the clock, and went down for the count. The only satisfaction Angel got was in carrying Spike’s unconscious body into another room. There was no way in hell he was laying him down in the same bed with Buffy.

“Now what?” he growled at Giles.

Giles sighed, rubbing wearily at his face. “Now, we wait.” His gaze flickered to Ilona. “Would you care for some tea?”

Angel only half-heard her accented agreement, too busy staring at the broken mantle clock to care that Giles didn’t offer him any blood. The door opened and closed as the Watcher left them alone, but not even the soft press of Ilona’s breasts to his arm could spur Angel to move from his spot.

“Don’t start with me,” he menaced. “You and I aren’t done.”

“Oh, no,” she agreed. She edged around to face him. “There’s still the matter of my payment to discuss.”

“Not now, we’re not. You get nothing until Buffy wakes up.”

An amused smile canted her mouth. “You do not mention Spike’s return. Do you not worry about him?”

Angel rolled his eyes. “Like there’s any point to that. Spike has a way of showing up, whether you want him to or not. He doesn’t need me turning on the porchlight for him.”

“But you and the Watcher…you did not discuss waking him. Why is this?”

His gaze flickered to Buffy. It took everything he had to ignore the flushed scent of her skin, how it heated her blood and made her smell so delicious. Worrying about the death of your ex was not the right time to be considering how good she smelled. “Because it’s pointless to try waking Spike before we bring Buffy back,” he answered. “Giles and I both know that.”

“Oh? Why is this?”

He folded his arms across his chest, shoving his hands into his pits to hide his balled fists. “We might not know what’s tying her to that other place, but the second Spike goes through, he’ll be stuck for as long as she is. The thing that’s going to tie him there is Buffy.”

* * *

It could have been worse. The clock could have dropped him in the middle of downtown Sunnydale, turning to ash in the few seconds he’d be exposed to the bright morning sun. Spike could feel the heat through the jagged walls of the high school, smell the evidence of a blooming spring just feet away, but as much as the familiar scents washed over him, telling him without a shadow of a doubt where he was, all he could think about was _find Buffy_.

This wasn’t the school he last remembered. When he had resided in its bowels, it had been shiny and new and smelling of fresh concrete and paint. This was the hollowed shell that he’d returned to Sunnydale and found, the carcass left when Buffy and her friends had blown it up. For whatever reason, its reconstruction had been ignored in this dimension. Spike wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

He crept silently through the debris-filled hallways. The smell of blood was heavy in the air, fresh and newly spilt. He didn’t need to see bodies to know that it was both human and demon, but it still put him on edge, senses alert for anything that remotely resembling Buffy. Being around her for the past eighteen hours had imprinted her body’s scents and rhythms anew on his brain; he had little doubt he could find her even under these circumstances. There was nowhere she could hide. It was only a matter of being thorough in his search.

The trail grew stronger the closer he got to the basement door. He should have known that it would eventually lead him there, but in his need to know he wasn’t missing anything, Spike had avoided it. He didn’t really fancy going down there. It wasn’t the memories of those post-soul months where the First turned him into its handpuppet. It was the memories of that last day, of Buffy’s liquid eyes gazing up at him as he tried to get her to go, of the searing pain and the incredible joy that accompanied going up in flame, of the relief that it was all over. He wasn’t ready to face that again.

He didn’t have a choice.

The door itself was in surprising good condition compared to the rest of the building, though the top hinge had been torn from its mooring. Spike stopped to examine it, eyes narrowed as he took in the deep gouges in the charred wall. Something with strength had ripped it free. Something with strength had been determined to get downstairs. He leaned in and sniffed.

Something with strength had been mostly demon.

He kept his footsteps quiet as he descended the stairs, senses alert for any impending attack. Halfway down, the faint rhythms of a multitude of heartbeats began to thrum against his skin, making him pause. People. A lot of them. Fear hung in the air, palpable and pungent. They were _hiding_. On top of the bloody _Hellmouth_? What the hell had happened here?

What confused him were all the demons he could smell, too. It didn’t make sense.

It was simple to follow deep into the throng. Beneath the fire and smoke and blood that still lingered in the air, life breathed and filled it. There was sex, and tears, and food, and in spite of his trepidation, Spike found it oddly calming. He passed doorways and watched people cleaning debris, righting furniture, bringing order to chaos. Nobody paid him any mind. They were too involved in their own drama to care about his.

He found Buffy’s scent in an unfamiliar corridor, bereft of inhabitants. It wasn’t alone, but he didn’t have time to try and decipher the other aromas, in spite of the lurking belief that he should know them. Spike traced it back to a previous hall he’d disregarded, careful to remain in the shadows and avoid any direct contact with the community’s residents. Because that’s what it was. Buffy had found refuge amongst these people, others driven below ground for whatever reason this dimension provided. She had probably been drawn by their need. It was just like her.

“Spike?”

The soft voice came from behind him, and he whirled to see the confused face of a long-dead Tara gazing up at him. The second they made eye contact, however, everything in her sharpened, and she took a step away, her heart suddenly hammering inside her chest.

“No,” she said. “You’re not him. Did…” The question faded on her lips. Something about him had struck her, and Spike stood there motionless, wondering how Red had managed to save her lover in this world, wondering why the witch looked at him with such knowing. “Oh. _Oh_.”

Before he could speak, her hand came out and sculpted the air around him, small sparks leaping from her fingertips as they encountered something unseen. Spike flinched on instinct, but Tara was unfazed, smiling softly by the time she pulled back.

“You came for Buffy.”

He frowned, head tilting in curiosity. “How’d you know that?”

“Your aura. It’s just like hers.” She faltered. “But…she said you were dead.”

“She would. To her, I am.”

Her brows shot up. “And you came anyway? I don’t think…” Her gaze slid sideways, the wheels visibly turning inside her head. “I think maybe you should wait here. I’ll bring Buffy to you.”

His hand shot out to grab her arm, keeping her from walking away when she began to turn. “I don’t think so, luv,” Spike said. “Clock’s tickin’, and no offense, but I’m not larking about. I came to suss out whatever it is holding Buffy here, and if you’re not goin’ to be straight up with me, I’ll find her on my own.”

Tara frowned at his words. “What do you mean, whatever’s holding Buffy? You know how to get her back?”

“Yeah, except she’s fighting us. Something’s making her want to stay here instead of comin’ home.”

He couldn’t miss the faint flutter of her pulse, or the way she licked nervously at her lips. “All right,” she conceded. “But if you’re expecting a Brady Bunch reunion, you’re going to be disappointed. It’s…not going to be what you expect.”

Spike let her go so that she could start leading him through the labyrinth. “It never is,” he muttered.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Other!Spike found the necessary spell to kill Adam, while Spike successfully ended up at the high school, only to run into Tara...

The soft knock at the door surprised both of them, both heads turning to stare at it at the same time. It took only a moment for Spike to reach and stub out his cigarette. “It’s Tara,” he said in explanation.

Buffy hopped up from where she sat on the floor. “She’s probably got her arms full with breakfast. I’ll help her while you try and pretend you don’t smoke in your room behind her back.”

Spike’s low chuckle followed her to the doorway. Her step was lighter than it had been earlier, some of the tension about the situation dissipated. Though they hadn’t talked about the sex any further, Spike’s admission had paved a smoother path for their conversation, allowing them to discuss strategy about getting to Adam without rancor. Keeping a physical distance had helped as well. Buffy couldn’t ignore the fact that being in Spike’s presence – other dimension or not – had always had an effect on her. They didn’t need a repeat of the cafeteria freezer.

“I hope you brought enough,” she joked as she pulled open the door for Tara. “I’m so hungry, I think I could eat a…” Her gaze fell not on the alternate version of her friend but on the blond standing behind her, and Buffy’s world constricted. “…Spike.”

He looked mostly the same. The coat was gone, but he still wore his black t-shirt and jeans, forearms pale and muscular where they were exposed. His face was slightly fuller, like he’d had an opportunity to gain back some of the weight he’d lost those last two awful years in Sunnydale, and there was a solidity to him that made her stand up straighter.

The eyes were what killed her, though. Soft, fixed on her as if he was drowning and she his only rescue. There was that same wariness that had accompanied most of their interaction that year with the First hanging around. There was the flare buried beneath the blue, the passion he’d kept veiled so closely after the soul.

And there was life.

Spike. _Her_ Spike.

Was _alive_.

The bed creaked, the steady footfalls of this dimension’s Spike coming up behind her audible, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the spectacle at the doorway

“Well, this just got buggered all good and proper, didn’t it?” said a dry voice behind her.

Her Spike looked up then, past Buffy’s shoulder. His nostrils flared, and the sudden snap of his eyes back to hers brought a charge of heat up the back of her neck.

“I know what this looks like…” Tara’s voice was smooth and gentle, but it did little to alleviate the hammering of Buffy’s heart. “He’s from your dimension, Buffy. His aura is exactly like yours.”

She wanted to say it wasn’t possible. She wanted to say she had watched him die, and that if Spike had found some way to survive the collapse of the Hellmouth, he would have found a way to tell her. She wanted to say a lot of things.

Her Spike spoke first.

“The bloody _Immortal_?” he said, in obvious annoyance.

The snort from behind was cut off with a quick elbow to this dimension’s Spike’s ribs – and god, she was going to have to sort out some kind of naming system for these two or her brain was going to go even more screwy than it already was. It served a valid purpose, though. It helped her snap out of the fugue that had settled around her at seeing another ghost made real, this one more deadly in its power to hurt her than all the others combined.

Stepping out into the hall, Buffy grabbed her Spike’s arm and pulled him away from the doorway.

“Not counting the fact that you’re not supposed to be alive,” she hissed, “but how the hell are you even _here_? Did you do something to Paolo? How did you get into his house?” Her eyes widened. “Oh god. Please tell me there weren’t cattle prods involved.”

Another snort, this time from her Spike. “Cattle prod’s too good for the wanker,” he said. “And I’m here to drag your ass back before it’s too late.” Though he didn’t shrug off her grip, his strong hand wrapped around her elbow in some weird sort of fraternity handshake. “Let’s save show and tell for after Rupert magics us back, all right? I’ll answer any question you’ve got then.”

Buffy yanked herself away, disengaging completely. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”

“What? Why?” He stared at her in disbelief before his eyes flickered to the pair she knew stood and watched. With a malicious curl of his lip, Spike jerked a thumb at his counterpart. “Because of him? Hate to break it to you, pet, but when it comes to sharing your stage, he’s the soddin’ understudy.”

The other Spike’s “Oy!” and Tara’s offended “Hey!” was a chorus behind them that Buffy easily ignored. She was too busy getting pissed off at the vampire she still had standing in front of her.

“Contrary to popular belief and your many grand delusions,” Buffy ground out, “not everything revolves around sex. Sex doesn’t have to mean I love you, or be the big confession of undying devotion. Not even sex with you. Or him. Or any of you.”

“So you did shag him.” He looked so smug, she wanted to slap the smirk off his face. “Bet your beloved Immortal will love to hear about that. ‘Bout bloody time he got some of his own back.”

“Some of his own…?” She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with _Spike_. “This is so not about any of that,” she argued. “You have no idea what this place is about. If you did---.”

“Know a hell of a lot more than you think. Always did.” He jabbed her in the shoulder. “ _Your_ so-called boyfriend has a fetish for storing up dimensions like snowglobes from Disneyland. This place? The answer to some choice you made that Thanksgiving I got used for bullseye practice and you went hunting for bears.”

Buffy went pale at his all-too accurate assessment of the situation. He’d obviously seen the room, seen all the clocks keeping their silent, frozen times. And he knew without having to interrogate half the local inhabitants when the timelines had diverged. It didn’t quell her rising anger, though.

“And yet, in spite of knowing all that, you’re still jumping to conclusions.” She shook her head. “Gee, and here I thought those near-death experiences were supposed to give people fresh outlooks on their lives. Obviously, I’ve been the victim of Hollywood manipulation.”

His mouth opened to retort, and Buffy braced herself for the gibe to come flying back at her. Instead of letting loose the harsh words she expected, though, Spike closed his mouth again, a sly gleam appearing in his eyes. He lifted the same finger he’d used to poke her with to mirror the slow shake of his head.

“I don’t think so, pet,” he said, amusement in his voice. “Maybe these are the games you’ve been playing with Spike Junior back there, and yeah, maybe I am tempted to stand here and argue with you until you’re so wet I can taste you. But I’ve been down this merry road before, remember? And if you think I’m giving you the excuse you need to fob me off when you’re done with me this time, you haven’t come quite so far as I thought you had. ‘Course, you’ve been bedding with the Immortal, so far is relative. But still…”

Buffy was stopped from slapping the smirk off his face for real this time by Tara’s gentle hand on her arm. “Maybe you and I should go get that breakfast,” Tara said. “Give everybody time to cool off a little bit.” She glanced at Spike. “Can taking Buffy back wait fifteen minutes?”

“I already said. I’m not going---.”

“Yeah,” Spike interrupted. “But it’s not so much about me taking her away as it is Buffy bein’ willing to go back. We’ve been tryin’ to get her out of here for hours now, but she’s fighting us every step of the way.” His gaze returned to Buffy, that smile still lingering. “Know you wouldn’t be you without a little fire in your belly, but you’ve only got a matter of hours before your body back in our world can’t take the stress any more, pet.”

Her head was spinning from all the explanations flying back and forth, not to mention the fact that she was discussing dimensional hopping with a vampire who shouldn’t even exist. Buffy grasped onto the one detail that she knew she could always rely upon.

“My body?” Her hands felt over her torso. She felt real enough. Everything felt the same. A little sore, maybe, from messing around with the other Spike on a hard, concrete floor, but those kind of bruises wouldn’t be visible through her shirt, torn as it might be. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh!” Tara brightened. “Remember how I said it looked like your aura was trapped? You’re probably in both places.”

Well, that made more sense. Though she sincerely hoped that her body back home hadn’t been acting out what she was doing here. If Giles really was trying to get her back, the last thing he would want to see was her unconscious body writhing around someplace as she came.

She needed time to think about this. “You said I have a few hours yet, right?” Buffy pressed Spike.

“Well, yeah, but---.”

“Then we’re going to go get something to eat while Spike…” She gestured back to where this dimension’s Spike lounged in the doorway, watching the exchange. “…can fill you in on what’s going on. Because I’m not going back until I’ve done what I have to, and as long as you’re here, I’m putting you to work. More muscle is always good. Especially when it comes to Adam.” She tucked her arm into Tara’s. “We’ll be right back.”

* * *

Spike wanted to grab Buffy’s arm and demand she not go, but getting into a fight with her – more than they already had – was the last thing he wanted. The last thing he’d expected was to see her with another version of himself, and to think that that was at least a contributing factor to why she might not be willing to let go of this dimension had made hope flare deep inside his heart. Unfortunately, Spike had always had problems expressing hope properly, and it often found its way into his words via inappropriate means. Like bragging. And smug satisfaction. And sarcasm.

Spike eyed the other version of himself warily. Without Buffy to distract him, he could measure the differences, the grown-out hair, the gaunt appearance. The other him looked ready to attack at a moment’s notice, like a feral cat brought into a private residence, but there was no fear in his posture. If anything, Spike thought he almost looked curious.

“Slayer said…” Oh. The other him was speaking. “…you got a soul. That true?”

Spike tilted his head, eyes narrowing in speculation. “Buffy talked about me, did she? What else did she say?”

Other Spike snorted. “Precious little in the end. Spent too much time telling me how we’re different, tryin’ to remind herself that I’m not the one she cared about.” He jabbed a finger at Spike, taking a step closer. “And you still haven’t answered the bloody question. Don’t think I didn’t notice that.”

“Yeah. I have a soul. She tell you why I got it?”

“Said ‘cause you loved her. That you two never really talked about why you got it.”

The response made sense. Though so much had been settled between them after his return to Sunnydale, he and Buffy had never had a heart-to-heart about that awful night in the bathroom. For some reason, the fact that she’d admitted that to this version of himself filled Spike with even more hope about what might happen when he got her back home.

“Just out of curiosity,” Spike asked, “whose idea was the shagging?”

Other Spike smirked. “Bit of both, really. Though she was the first to kiss me last night. Never would’ve considered it, but she’s rather a good armful once you’ve got a hold of her. Drove me to distraction with bein’ so wet all the time, and then every time she got good and brassed off…” He clapped his hands together in a sudden burst of noise. “Hard to argue with her when she’s got her mouth glued to yours, isn’t it? Is that a trick you taught her?”

There was a small part of Spike that was jealous as hell at all the kisses Buffy seemed to have bestowed on this other Spike, thoughts of how easily it seemed that she would jump into his arms when he had struggled to get her to even acknowledge the kisses they did share.

But that small part was squashed quite thoroughly by a swell of smug pride. Because, ultimately, it was about Buffy wanting him. It might take some time when they got back, and it might take some doing, but Spike knew he could get her back to his way of thinking. Maybe they could have a real future together. Maybe they could start over. Hell, if nothing else, he’d make sure she’d never want to shag the bloody Immortal again. It wouldn’t be his top choice, but it would more than do in a pinch.

Getting Buffy back would best, though. Without a doubt.

“So,” Spike said, his mood lifted, “what’s this I hear about Adam?”

* * *

Angel stared at Buffy’s sleeping form, trying to ignore the heavy sighs coming from Giles or the way the Watcher took off his glasses to rub his eyes. At the foot of the bed, Daniel was blowing out his candle, keeping his gaze well away from the others as he scurried to gather up the bit from the spell. Thank god they’d banished Ilona to the downstairs study while they attempted to rouse Buffy again. Angel was pretty sure in his current mood that he would have snapped her neck.

“It’s not working, Giles,” he growled. After tossing his extinguished candle onto the bed, Angel shoved his hands into his pits in order to keep from lashing out. “Why isn’t it working?”

Another sigh. “I suppose the obvious answer is that Spike hasn’t found Buffy yet,” Giles replied. “He has only been gone for half an hour. We’ve no way of ascertaining where he might have entered the dimension, or even, if it was the correct dimension.”

“So, let’s wake him up and ask him.”

“He’s only been gone for thirty minutes,” Giles reiterated. “We have to allow him time to do what needs to be done. And besides…” He lifted his tired eyes to meet Angel’s. “…do you honestly believe he’ll respond to the waking spell without Buffy already back?”

Angel scowled. It was exactly what he’d told Ilona when she’d pressed the issue. It didn’t mean he had to like it, though.

“According to Ilona’s assessment, and based on Daniel’s calculations, we have ten hours before Buffy’s fever reaches critical levels. We’ll simply attempt the recovery spell every half hour until she wakes.”

“And if she doesn’t wake up?”

Giles came around the end of the bed to pick up the tea that he had left sitting on the desk. He grimaced at its cooler temperature, but drank it down anyway while Angel waited for a reaction.

“Well?” Angel demanded impatiently.

“There is no ‘well’,” Giles snapped. His teacup rattled from the force he put it back down on the desk. “As much as it might pain us to admit it, Spike is our best chance at getting Buffy back. If he doesn’t succeed…” He stopped, taking a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice had returned to its normal softer tone. “He’ll succeed.”

As he watched Giles leave the room with Daniel close on his heels, Angel wondered who it was Giles was trying to convince – Angel or himself.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy found out her Spike was alive, and Angel and Giles argued about Spike's efforts...

Buffy didn’t realize she had filled a coffee cup with half milk, half blue Kool-Aid, until Tara’s gentle hand wrapped around hers as she held the mug, prising it away with only a small smile.

“Are you OK?” Tara asked. Her voice was soft, warm eyes concerned. “That was…kind of a shock back there.”

“No kidding.” With a sigh, Buffy brushed back a loose lock of hair, settling heavily into the lone chair in the tiny space that served as a kitchen. “I just…he was supposed to be dead. Although I don’t know why I’m surprised. Death seems to be as permanent in my life as Anya’s hair color used to be.”

Tara leaned against the small stretch of counter. “What are you going to do?”

“About Spike?” Buffy shrugged. “Play it by ear, I guess. I kind of want to ask why he didn’t let me know he was alive, but then…well, seeing Spike again – your Spike – has had me thinking about everything that happened in Sunnydale, and everything that happened before, and…I’m sure he’s got his reasons. He doesn’t want me jumping all over him and telling him he screwed up.” She flushed at Tara’s raised brows. “Well, no more than I already have.”

“And there’s always time to talk about it later,” Tara said. “When you get back to your own dimension.”

Mention of leaving reminded Buffy of Spike’s assertions. “Could he be right?” she asked. “About me being the one holding me back. Could that be true, or is that Spike just blowing smoke to make me feel bad about it all?”

Tara took a moment to consider it before shaking her head. “Obviously, he’s not the Spike I know,” she said, “but I think I know enough to see that he cares for you. And what he suggested could be completely true. You’ve found things here that you didn’t have back home. Your mom, and me, and…” Her lashes ducked for a moment. “Spike.”

It was all true, but now that it was brought up, Buffy could see that it was much, much more than that. “There’s this business with Adam and Riley, too,” she argued. “That’s my fault, and I can help you fix it. Make things better around here.” She lifted a hand to cut Tara off when the other girl tried to interrupt. “Yeah, I know, different Buffy. But still. I feel responsible, and the fact of the matter is, I’m the only one who knew what it would take to bring him down. It’s not right for you to have to go on living like this if you don’t have to. And I can’t just walk away until I know I’ve done everything I could.”

“But you might not have a choice. Spike said you only have a few hours left. Buffy, no matter how you might feel, nobody here would be happy about you getting hurt or worse, dying, because you stuck around so long just to help us. In fact, I think Joyce and Spike would be pretty upset about it.” Her smile was soft. “You’ve messed with his head a lot, you know. I don’t think he knows if his Buffy hate is coming or going.”

Buffy returned the smile, though she couldn’t quite meet Tara’s gaze. She couldn’t deny what Tara was referring to. “Yeah, well, we both pretty much agreed it was a heat of the moment thing. And now that my Spike’s here, and alive…”

She was back where she’d started from. Questions upon questions upon questions without an answer in sight. There were others, of course, but she knew those would wait until after she got home again. Had Giles known all along? How long had Spike been back? Did he not love her any more? Was that why he hadn’t told her he was alive?

She thought she knew the answer to the love question. He had been too jealous, too direct for his feelings to be gone. They were still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for some kind of ignition from her to be released. Her confession in the Hellmouth hadn’t been enough, obviously. He hadn’t believed her then. He might not believe her now.

Did she even want to tell him?

“We should probably go by Giles and Joyce’s room to let them know about the other Spike being here,” Tara was saying. “If you can disappear at any moment, I think they would want to say good bye. If that’s OK with you.”

Buffy rose to her feet, taking the tray of food that Tara was holding out. “I need to let Giles know we’ve got more muscle for the attack on Adam, too,” she said. She paused, wrinkling her nose as a thought occurred to. “Except I don’t understand Fyarl. If he has questions---.”

“Joyce or I can interpret,” Tara finished. She tilted her head toward the hall. “Let’s go.”

* * *

He had asked for answers. Spike never expected to get nightmares.

The Other Spike’s tone remained casual, relating fact after fact about the world Buffy’s decision to not take him in had created. Adam. Buffy’s death. Fyarl Giles. The demon hybrids running amok with Adam at the helm. How those that fought back had taken to hiding over the Hellmouth. Part of Spike was proud for being involved in the battle, though he was more than a little surprised that his human partner was Tara. But even more, it sobered him, realizing this was what Buffy had walked into. No wonder she didn’t want to go back. Though it seemed like such a small choice – and honestly, Spike had wondered more than once how his life would’ve been different if he hadn’t gone to Rupert’s that day – it had snowballed to create a world she would ultimately think was her fault.

His only issue with her decision to stay and fight was the matter of time.

“You say you’ve never got close to Adam?” he asked the Other Spike, his eyes narrowed.

“Not without someone losin’ a life or a limb or both,” came the reply.

“And yet, Buffy’s ready to charge in, guns a-blazing, on this harebrained scheme you and Rupes have been hatching on the side when you’re good and drunk and feelin’ kamikaze.”

Other Spike grinned. “What can I say? Slayer’s got stones.”

“Slayer’s got a death wish,” Spike snarled. He bolted from his seat and began pacing around the room. “How the hell can she believe she’s goin’ to get close enough to be able to strike when the time for the mojo comes?”

Some of Other Spike’s amusement faded. “Actually, that’s the part of her plan I was tryin’ to talk her out of.”

Spike nearly rolled his eyes. If this battle-weary, hungrier version of himself didn’t like Buffy’s idea, there was no way it could be good. His voice was terse. “Tell me.”

“Daft bint think she’s goin’ to turn herself over to Finn.”

“What?!?” He stopped in his paces and stared at the other vampire, incredulous. “Riley Finn? Captain of the Corn himself? What the bloody fuck does he have to do with anything?”

He listened as the Other Spike told about Finn’s hybridization, how he’d been sporting wood for Slayers since the change, how Faith had stayed human under his eye, and how he’d stormed the Hellmouth, likely in search of another Slayer to satisfy his obsession. His stomach sank with every detail. While he had hoped that getting it fixed in Buffy’s head was just a matter of convincing her she couldn’t take out Adam, knowing that Finn was in the picture changed everything.

“Bloody hate the idea myself,” Other Spike was saying. He’d pulled out a pack of cigarettes and was playing with it, his eyes straying continuously to the door. “But she got it into her head and I haven’t been able to shake it. Was goin’ to make Rupert growl at her really loud to scare her into backing off the notion.”

“Idiot. You don’t give her a choice! You tie her down if you have to. Chains work really well, trust me. She gets bitchy afterward, and you might get a thump or two, but voice of experience here, mate. They’ll work.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, anyway, does it? She’s got a deadline, you said. There’s no way we can get everything ready in time. How long exactly before things go south back where you lot come from?”

Spike glanced at the clock on the shelf, doing the math quickly in his head. “Just under ten hours. Didn’t want to cut it so close, though. Rupert and Angel will have my---.”

“Angel?” It was Other Spike’s turn for shock. “What’re you doin’ hangin’ about with him? Don’t tell me you two decided to form a Soul Club for Vampires or something.”

He didn’t have time for this, but the look on his counterpart’s face said that this was a topic he wouldn’t shake until satisfied. “It’s a long story,” he said. “Suffice it to say, it’s all wrapped up in how I came back and why Buffy still thought I was dead. Right now, Angel needs me. Wanker can’t find his ass with both hands these days.”

The Other Spike slumped back against the bed, tossing the pack of cigarettes aside. “If you ask me, Buffy needs you more.”

What needled was that the same thought had flitted across his head more than once since he’d made his choice to stay in LA, but there was no way in hell Spike was going to let the other vamp know that.

“Buffy can take good care of herself,” he shot back.

“Yeah?” A single brow quirked. “Took up with the Immortal, didn’t she? If that’s not a desperate cry for help, I don’t know what is.”

Growling, Spike pointed a menacing finger at his double. “Stay out of what doesn’t concern you. You don’t know the first thing about what my life is like now, or what Buffy and I have gone through.”

“Know she woke up cryin’ in my bed last night.” Other Spike was completely unperturbed by his level words, though they were like a punch to Spike’s gut. “Know she looked at me those first few hours like I don’t remember anybody ever looking at me. And I know you’d be a bloody fool to think none of what you did matters to her. Even now.”

It was a little schizophrenic, arguing with another him. Menacing didn’t work because there were no tricks to be hidden. And in spite of their divergent past four years, their brains still worked the same. The same logic and observations Spike had used on everybody surrounding him were now being tossed back at him, whether he liked it or not. How the hell was he supposed to argue with that?

“I came after her, didn’t I?” He glanced at the door. Why was breakfast taking so long? “And I mean to talk her out of this rubbish plot. She has to know it’s suicide.”

“That never stopped the Slayer I knew. Or the one I’ve got the chance to know now.”

With a frustrated grunt, Spike marched over to the door and threw it open wide, stepping out in the hall. He looked up and down it, sniffing at the air, but other than the same distractions that had permeated upon his arrival, he found nothing. The chuckle from the bed within only irritated him further.

_Where the hell are you, Buffy?_

* * *

The plane touched down on the damp Heathrow tarmac, its wheels hissing where they made contact and rolled along in a blur as the brakes squealed beneath the engines. Above, the sky was a dull gray, the last vestiges of an early morning rain, but the air was crisp and spring-cool, even with the scent of oil hanging in the air. As the plane slowed to a lazy taxi, a dark Bentley with its windows blacked out shadowed behind, following it to a private terminal set apart from the rest of the airport.

It took several minutes for the small plane to come to rest, and a few more after that before the doors opened. Behind, the Bentley waited, its motor now quiet. A somber chauffeur stepped out and went around the vehicle’s rear, waiting at the back door for whoever would disembark from the plane.

First came a tall, gaunt figure, impeccably dressed in a white suit. He didn’t even glance at the Bentley, choosing instead to march in long strides toward the terminal doors. The next, however, drew the chauffeur’s attention, and he lifted his head to squint up and watch the Immortal step gracefully down the ladder.

He didn’t smile. His black eyes were hard and cold, missing any of the warmth from the previous night. To the casual onlooker, there would have appeared to be lines creasing his mouth, but a second look would have shown that to be an illusion. The Immortal did not have wrinkles or obvious signs of aging, nor did sleep usually mar his smooth features. The history books could prove that.

His step was agile as he walked slowly toward the Bentley, nodding at the man as he approached. “Good evening, sir,” the chauffeur said, opening the door. His British accent was clipped and sure.

The Immortal didn’t reply, choosing instead to slide into the back seat. As soon as he met the broad features of the man sitting opposite however, something loosened in his aspect, a hint of relief softening what absolutely wasn’t tension.

“Signore, so good of you to meet me,” the Immortal said.

Marcus Hamilton held out his large hand, an amiable smile splitting his features. “It’s most certainly my pleasure,” he replied. “After all, you’re very important to the Senior Partners. And these recent developments with Angel are…unfortunate.”

“Do you know where she is?”

Hamilton continued to smile, even as the front door of the car opened and closed, the chauffeur’s shadow appearing in the front seat. “Ms. Summers is currently in the Watchers’ Council’s custody, as we expected would be the case when Angel and Spike fled Rome.”

“And Ilona?”

“Has delivered both the spell and the clock to them safely.”

With a heavy sigh, the Immortal leaned back against the smooth leather, turning his face toward the darkened window. Through the shaded glass, the faint outlines of the terminal edged away as the Bentley began to move, but more visible was his reflection.

“I do not like such unpredictability,” he murmured. “Anything can happen.”

“Anything won’t happen,” Hamilton assured. “Should Angel balk at Ilona’s payment, the Senior Partners have made my instructions very clear.”

“Yes, I am certain they have.”

The pair lapsed into silence as the car maneuvered away from the airport, and soon they were merging with traffic on the M4. Hamilton was the first to break.

“You seem perturbed,” he said. “Is there something I can do to ease your mind?”

Dark eyes slid back to Hamilton. “This is not how I do business, signore. It does not please me to know Buffy is still in the hands of those…vampires.”

“A temporary but necessary measure. Rest assured, by the time you return to Rome tonight, this entire matter will be resolved, and Ms. Summers will be at your side once again.”

“And the vampires?”

“The Senior Partners have their own plans for Angel, but Spike holds absolutely no interest of them. He’ll be disposed of appropriately.”

For the first time since getting into the car, the Immortal smiled.

“This is excellent news. Thank you.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike learned the extent of how things were different in the other dimension, and the Immortal arrived in London and met with Hamilton, who assured him that everything was proceeding as planned...

Giles’ growls made the walls vibrate at Buffy’s back. She didn’t need to speak Fyarl to know he was annoyed, but it still wouldn’t be enough to get her to go inside. She couldn’t do it. Tara could think all she wanted that saying good bye to Giles and her mother was a good idea. Buffy disagreed. It would mean losing her mom all over again, and after the shock of Spike, she wasn’t nearly strong enough to take it. Not right now.

Her hand rubbed absently over her stomach, trying to quell the nausea that had risen. Halfway to Giles’ room, she had told Tara to make an excuse for her, her body already rebelling against the little bit of food she’d nibbled on in the kitchen. Only Tara’s reluctant agreement had stopped her from throwing up, but still, some of the discomfort lingered. So focused on subduing the feelings, Buffy didn’t even hear the heavy footsteps approach down the hall.

“What’s wrong, pet?”

The sound of Spike’s voice made her look up, her heartbeat skipping a beat when she recognized the bleached hair of her Spike. This dimension’s version hovered a few feet behind him, but the moment she glanced back to meet his eyes, he simply nodded and backed off, melting into the labyrinthine halls. It left the two alone, with only their pasts to guide them.

Sighing, Buffy pushed away from the wall, taking a few steps away from Giles’ door. “I told you we’d be right back,” she said. “What? You went a year without seeing me and now you can’t wait five extra minutes?”

It came out more bitterly than she intended, and there was no mistaking his small wince. He didn’t back off, though. He stood there and regarded her with solemn eyes.

“Came lookin’ for you because I found out about this daft idea of turning yourself over to Finn.” The calmness of his voice surprised her. The topic of Riley had always been a reliable one for unleashing Spike’s temper. “I didn’t expect to find you like this, though.” He tilted his head as he took a tentative step closer. “You goin’ to tell me what’s wrong, or do we set about playing twenty questions again?”

It was the gentility of his approach that undid her. It was those last few days before the final battle in the Hellmouth all over again.

“Tara wanted me to say good bye to Giles.” She swallowed. “And my mom.”

His gaze jumped to the door she’d been standing next to, understanding making them widen in surprise. “He said…” he started, and then stopped, as if realizing more would be redundant. Apparently, the specifics of the living arrangements had slipped through the cracks in the Other Spike’s tale-telling, although this Spike obviously knew about Joyce being alive.

“If you want to go talk to her, you can,” Buffy offered. “Tara’s in there right now, filling them in on all the updates, so she knows you’re here. I know…you liked her. And you never got to say good bye either, so, you know, you can now.”

Something resembling longing passed behind his eyes, but Spike tore his attention away from the door to return it to Buffy. “No need,” he said, shaking his head. “I made my peace with your mum when it happened, and seein’ as how she’s used to my face still bein’ about, no reason for me to do it for her sake.” He took another step. He was within touching distance now, but his hands remained at his sides. When he spoke, his voice was painfully tender. “Is she another reason why you don’t want to come home, luv?”

Tears she had kept at bay for what felt like hours filled Buffy’s eyes, and she wiped them away before they could fall. “Have you seen how these people live?” she demanded. “Underground, like rats, all because I didn’t kill Adam here. Don’t you see how I would want to fix that?”

“Do.” Another step. A hand reached out and caught her wrist, his calloused thumb brushing across her wet fingertips to collect the tears for himself. “Doesn’t mean you don’t also wish you could have your mum back, or Tara, or…” His lashes ducked, his gaze fixed on their hands. “…anyone else you might have lost.”

For all his earlier bravado, Buffy realized that learning the whole story about this other dimension had forced Spike to pay closer attention to the depth of what his return might mean. His demeanor had sobered, perhaps tempered by something else the Other Spike might have said to him, and the animosity and anger and confusion that Buffy had harbored since seeing him at the doorway dissolved into so much dust.

“How long have you been back?” she whispered.

Guilt flashed across his face. “Some months,” he admitted. “Someone sent the amulet to Angel a few weeks after our fight and I popped out of it like a bloody jack-in-the-box. I wasn’t real, and worse, something about it all had me tied to Los Angeles, so I couldn’t leave even when I tried.”

She pulled her wrist out of his grip and pressed her palm to his chest. The familiar solid wall of his muscles both calmed and excited her, her heart fluttering slightly as she remembered how good it had felt sleeping in the Other Spike’s arms. Not because it was the Other Spike. Because it was so close to her Spike.

“You feel real to me,” Buffy said. “I’m guessing something changed.”

Spike nodded. “Last November. And it cut my ties to Angel and LA.”

“But you stayed away.”

He backed off from her touch, shoving his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the wall. His head was bowed, his shoulders slumped. She didn’t need to press on how this shamed him; it was written in every defeated muscle of his body.

“Had all these grand plans,” Spike said. “How I’d show up on your doorstep, how you and the Bit would make me stay with you. None of it was real, of course, just castles in the clouds. You’ve got your lives to lead and don’t need a soldier around for the fight that’s not yours any more.”

“That’s not---.”

“Let me finish.” When he lifted his head, his eye were a dark stormy shade, the emotion in them reaching out to her and yanking her to a silence. “Thinking on that got me scared, and I came up with an excuse to stay in LA for a little bit longer. And then a little bit longer. And then a bit longer after that. And pretty soon, it was too long. Because I knew I’d have to have this exact conversation, and I knew I’d have to look into your eyes and see the disappointment, and for all my grand talk and all my big words…I couldn’t do it. Because…you were proud of me, right?”

He phrased it as a question, seeking out confirmation in such a hopeful tone that Buffy could only say, “You know I am.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and Spike nodded in gratitude. “A lot was said those last few months. Between us. Told you things I wouldn’t have dared before the soul, and you…”

Buffy’s smile was soft. “I made a lot of speeches last year.”

“Necessary ones.”

“Mostly.”

“And not just the ones to the slayerettes. Some of the stuff you said to me…I couldn’t let myself believe, as much as you wanted me to.”

Buffy nodded. She knew exactly how he felt. That was how she had been with Spike’s words that entire year after her resurrection.

“Not all our decisions are good ones,” Spike said. “All I can ask is that you let me try again. If nothin’ else, pet, I’m a dab hand in a fight. If you want me around, that is.”

“Stupid vampire,” she muttered good-humoredly. “I always wanted you around, even when I didn’t want it.”

He grinned, some of the slump in his body hardening as the mood shifted. Jerking his head in the direction the Other Spike had gone, he said, “But you had me around, didn’t you? At least since you dropped through the looking glass.”

Buffy looked down the hall, reliving the time she’d spent in this twisted version of her world. “In a way,” she conceded. “I think seeing you with Tara this morning would’ve been a lot harder if I hadn’t seen him first last night. He thought I was some trick of Adam’s and I was convinced I was dreaming. Turned out we were both wrong.”

“Can’t believe I ended up back in the bloody basement.” When she glanced back, Spike was looking up and around, drinking in his surroundings. “Always hoped I’d seen the end of this place.”

“Do you know, they actually open the Hellmouth to hide in there when Adam does his raids?”

His head snapped back to her. “What? Are they crazy?”

“That’s what I said!” Relief at having someone on her side regarding the issue, someone who saw immediately how stupid the notion was, made the adrenaline surge through her veins. “When Riley attacked this morning, that’s where everybody went to hide. Tara and Spike said it was the only place Riley wouldn’t go.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you went back down there?”

“Oh, god, no. Spike and I hid in the freezer in the cafeteria until the coast was clear.”

“Good. I didn’t go through all that with the amulet just to lose you again to that place. It’s been tough enough, thinking we weren’t going to be able to wake you up from the Immortal’s spell.”

Mention of her state back in their world brought Buffy back to the most immediate topic at hand. “So you get why I have to stick around now, right?” she said. “They need me here.” She laid a careful hand on his arm. “They need _us_.”

It was a deliberate ploy, but she had to use every trick she could. There was no way she could leave without doing everything in her power to help. Spike _had_ to understand that.

“I get the need, luv,” he said slowly. “But you don’t have that luxury. The clock’s tickin’ on you back home. Your body’s only goin’ to last ten more hours of this magic before it gives out, and that’s not enough time to put this foolish plan of yours into action.”

“Then I have to change the plan.” She lifted her jaw, staring at him defiantly. “Because I’m not going anywhere until I know for sure Adam isn’t a threat to these people any more.”

* * *

Angel put off venturing downstairs for as long as he could. Another attempt to wake up Buffy had proven useless, and Giles had disappeared with Daniel to start making phone calls, to Dawn, to Willow, to Xander, to anybody he thought might have other ideas when it came to rousing Buffy and Spike. There was nothing left to be done except wait, which Angel was finding increasingly difficult. He was too used to getting fast results now, the consequence of being in charge at Wolfram & Hart for as long as he had, and this slow burn was beginning to wear on his last nerve.

It didn’t help that he was caught inside. What he really needed was a good fight to work off some of the tension. If he’d thought for a second he could get Spike to wake up, he would have pushed the other vampire out of bed himself in order to get a tussle in.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. With Ilona waiting in the downstairs study, Angel didn’t have to worry about taking unwanted calls, and when he pulled it out, he saw Wesley’s private line written across the screen.

“You’re up late,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“I’ve been going over the spells you sent me,” Wesley said. “Fascinating, really. Once I had the full text of the original, it was quite simple to find other references to it. Were you aware it was originally commissioned for D’Hoffryn, the master of the vengeance demons, over a thousand years ago? Apparently, he wanted it for---.”

“You didn’t really call me in the middle of the night to give me a history lesson, did you, Wes?” Angel interrupted.

“Actually, I did. More recent history.” There was a shuffle of papers, and Angel heard the distinct slide of a chair across the floor. “In light of Ilona’s offer to aid us, I decided to find out what exactly I could about her, in hopes of discovering what her payment might be in advance. Were you aware that she shares a history with the Immortal?”

“Yeah, she mentioned something like that.”

“Did she tell you they were lovers?”

Angel frowned. “No, she didn’t.”

It wasn’t a huge surprise to hear. Ilona had been possessive of the Immortal ever since this entire debacle had begun. And she had admitted to being intimately aware of his weaknesses, which Wolfram & Hart wished to exploit. Being his lover was certainly one of the best ways to gain that advantage.

“And doesn’t the Immortal’s clock collection stem from his relationships with his lovers?”

That was when it clicked. Ilona had talked of the Immortal’s soft belly, his weakness, and all the while, avoided the topic of her own. Somewhere, somehow, the Immortal had to have power over Ilona, something that he could threaten her with to get her to cooperate with him, something Wolfram & Hart didn’t even know about because otherwise they wouldn’t have put her into such a position of power, given her such a task as recruiting the Immortal to their ranks.

“Angel?”

Wesley’s prompt broke through his ruminations. “I’m here. I’m thinking.”

“Has Ilona told you what her payment is yet?”

“No.” Angel began to pace around the room, blocking out the scents of Buffy’s body as his mind continued to work. “I’d thought she might be working independently, but there’s no way she’d risk riling the Immortal by taking the clock. That means he knows.”

“Which also makes it highly likely that whatever payment she intends to exact is connected to Wolfram & Hart,” Wesley finished.

Angel snorted. “They already have me running their LA office. What more can I…” He stopped. There was plenty more. The possibilities were daunting. “We need to get Ilona out from under the Immortal’s thumb,” he said instead. “If she’s allowed to act independently of him, maybe we can get her to play for our side, if only for a few hours.”

Wesley’s hesitation was palpable. “Are you sure that’s wise? I know you liked her, Angel, but she’s been a Wolfram & Hart employee for years now, not to mention, by your own admission, having softer feelings for the Immortal.”

“I never said she’d be happy about it. Now, this is what I want you to do.”

* * *

Plaster showered around his powerful fist as Riley withdrew his hand from the wall, his armored fingers uncurling, then flexing as he shook off the dust. His accompanying growl had already faded by the time he resumed his pacing around the large room Adam used as his primary living quarters, but every once in a while, a silent snarl would twist his features into a death mask.

“Your failure still troubles you,” Adam commented. Seated at his computer, he held himself still as his download continued, the wires forcing him to merely watch Riley’s tirade. “Why?”

“Because I know she’s there, damn it!” Another swing punctuated his frustration, this time smashing a small wooden statue into shards. “They’re hiding her, and we should have had her. She should be here already.”

“Perhaps you were mistaken---.”

“No.” Riley stopped in his paces, his jaw tight as he glared at Adam. “It’s her. I know it is.”

For a moment, Adam looked as if he might argue, his normally calm eyes flickering in annoyance. It passed and he only tilted in head in curiosity. “The Slayer has been dead since our freedom. How is it you think this girl can be her?”

Rational argument brought a slight sag to Riley’s broad shoulders. “Maybe it was the witch,” he argued. “Hostile Seventeen was protecting both of them last night, and we know her powers are strong enough for resurrection spells. Maybe they brought her back as a way to fight against us.”

Adam almost smiled. “Because she was so effective the first time? That does not make sense.”

“Neither does hiding in a Hellmouth or thinking they’ll win. Since when do any of them care about sense? Especially Hostile Seventeen?”

It took a few seconds for Adam to respond. “I do not pretend to understand your fascination with the Slayer line,” he said, “but this continued agitation serves no good to me. Are you certain this is the same Buffy Summers you knew?”

Riley pulled himself straight. “Yes.”

“Then I shall get her for you.” Reaching across the desk, Adam punched a few keys on the computer before disengaging the wire from his chest. “If the Slayer is what you want, then the Slayer is what you shall have, my brother.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Spike had a moment to talk and clear the air, while Wes told Angel about Ilona's connection with the Immortal and Adam vowed to get the Slayer for Riley...

The thing about memories, especially if you’d lived as long as Spike had, is that time had a funny habit of slapping on one of those soft-focus filters, the kind that used to make Garbo look mysterious and Lombard ten years younger. He’d constructed these ideals inside his head without ever knowing it, remembering the good stuff about Buffy and glossing over the bad.

Like what a bitch she turned into when she was convinced she was right and everybody else was wrong.

Currently, she stood in the middle of Giles and Joyce’s living quarters, arms folded across her chest, eyes flashing with self-righteous anger as she argued with all and sundry about her determination to get Adam.

Well, almost all.

The Other Spike was doing a fair job holding the wall up in the corner, watching the proceedings with dark amusement and holding his tongue. He was the only one not to voice his opinion about Buffy’s plan.

Spike was half-tempted to go over and beat his two-toned head in for not having the stones to stand up to her.

“I don’t care how many different ways you try and paint this,” Joyce said. She was the bravest of the lot, standing dead on with her daughter in a furious clash of Summers’ wills. “This is suicide. Not only that, it’s stupid. You can’t guarantee you’re not going to get killed, so why on earth would you do this to people back in your own dimension who obviously care about you?”

“It’s that whole gotta save the world complex she’s got,” Spike groused. “No discriminating against dimensions for our girl. Oh, no. She’s a bona fide, equal opportunity hero.” He glared at Buffy. “Even when she’s bein’ ridiculous about it.”

She whirled on Spike, jabbing her finger into his unyielding chest. “There’s nothing ridiculous about wanting to help people! Or has hanging around Angel and his LA Law-lessness made you forget that, Spike? There was a time when you would’ve been the first to pick up a sword and fight with me. What happened to that vamp?”

He caught the distinct flicker of her gaze to the Other Spike, and his eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh, no, you bloody didn’t!” Deliberately, he invaded her personal space so that she had no choice but to turn her little pointy chin up to look at him. The heat pouring off her was making him hard, the rhythm of their arguing so achingly familiar that Spike had to ball his hands into fists and shove them into his armpits to keep from grabbing her. “Know why he’s not givin’ you hell about all this? Because he doesn’t give a flying fuck about you, luv. He’d just as soon shag you as watch you slit your own throat with this daft idea---.”

“Oy!” All eyes turned back to Other Spike who finally seemed interested in the conversation. “I tried talkin’ her out of her original plan, remember. Points for that.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Well, at least I know digging for credit is a standard Spike trait, no matter what dimension I’m in.”

This time, both Spikes voiced their dissent in a ringing chorus that drew more than a few smiles among the group.

Giles growled, his fist slamming into the wall in a shower of broken mortar as if to punctuate his meaning. When Tara turned to interpret for Buffy, the Slayer held up a hand to cut her off.

“I got it,” she said. “I don’t need to speak Fyarl to know he thinks this is a bad idea, too.”

“There was a threat to hang you upside down from the ceiling like a fly in a web if you did it, too,” Spike offered.

Tara patted his arm, then stiffened as she realized which Spike she was touching. “I was going to leave that part out.”

Another growl from Giles.

“No, she’s not,” Tara argued.

Buffy frowned. “I’m not what?”

“His Slayer,” Spike offered. “Rupert here thinks he can invoke some Watcher/Slayer privilege and force you to change your mind.”

With a frustrated cry, Buffy threw her hands up in the air and backed away from the group. “How many times do we have to go over this? The only thing that’s going to change my mind about going back is knowing that the Adam problem has been resolved, once and for all. You can tell me not to do anything---hell, you can try and physically stop me. But that’s not going to change the fact that this is what I want. And in case nobody’s been listening to Spike, that’s what’s keeping me here. So do we want to waste even more time arguing about this? Or are we going to get off our high horses and actually do something?”

The thing about bitchy Buffy, especially for as long as Spike had had to put up with her, was that nine times out of ten, she was right. It might not come out cookies and cream, but it was hard to argue with her logic, especially when she was burning from the fire of her belief. Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been known to be obnoxious when he was certain of something. He’d taken more than one blow to the nose from the Slayer herself as proof of that.

“Fine,” he growled. “We’ll get this Adam business sorted.” When Buffy’s frown shifted into a moue of delight, though, he lifted a warning finger to keep her silent. “But! You’re not turnin’ yourself over to Finn, understand? It’s too risky.”

“There’s no other---.”

“There is. Now shut that gorgeous mouth of yours for two seconds while I tell you how we’re doin’ this.”

To her credit, her jaw snapped shut. Spike couldn’t help but relax slightly in the face of her acquiescence. That made this easier.

“Fact is, the light of day keeps you from doin’ a proper offensive,” he explained to the group.

“Us, you mean,” Buffy corrected.

He shot her a quick glance. “Us, then. You don’t want Finn anyway. You want Adam. You can’t risk havin’ to wage two battles and losin’ half your crew before you even lay eyes on the wanker.”

Her slow, even hiss of breath was audible but only to his ears. One glance at the Other Spike told him that he hadn’t been alone, though. Buffy was slowly getting the picture.

“What are you suggesting, Spike?” Joyce asked.

“They’ve made their attack today,” he said. “And they’ve retreated, empty-handed. They’re not goin’ to expect anything else. Probably will just sit back and wait for nightfall so they can start those patrols he…” He jerked his thumb at Other Spike. “…was telling about.”

Giles’ low growl was paired with a slow curve of his upper lip, a vicious sneer that even Buffy could understand.

“We avoid the troops altogether,” Spike said in response. “Go now. Strike at Adam directly. You know where he is. The last thing he’s goin’ to expect is for you to come after him when you spent the mornin’ hiding from his boys. His guard’ll be down.”

“His guard’s never down,” Other Spike commented. “And there’s something else you haven’t considered.”

“What?”

“Finn. Those two watch each other’s backs. He’ll be a threat.”

“That’ll be me and Buffy’s job.”

Among the noises of surprise at Spike’s announcement within the group, Buffy’s brows shot up in surprise. “What happened to me not goin’ after Riley?” she demanded.

“Don’t want you turnin’ yourself over to him like some sacrificial lamb,” he corrected. “Beating the shit out of him is another beast entirely.” He hooked a thumb through a belt loop and smirked. “Besides. Way I hear it, he’s got as much a grudge against Hostile Seventeen in this world as he did in ours. He’s goin’ to be wetting himself havin’ the both of us in reach.”

She still seemed annoyed, though her stance softened a bit at the compromise Spike had made. “You just want to keep an eye on me. Don’t think I don’t know that.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Wait. If I go with you to take care of Riley, who’s going to be the one who goes after Adam?”

The two Spikes locked gazes. It took only a moment for Other Spike to shove off the wall.

“That’s goin’ to be my job,” he said. His eyes glinted with a fierce glee. “And it’s goin’ to be my pleasure.”

* * *

Angel delayed his appearance in the study downstairs for as long as possible. He didn’t particularly relish facing Ilona without a weapon of some sort, but until he heard from Wes again, he didn’t have much choice. And waiting upstairs with Buffy and Spike so near and yet so far was making him crazy. He kept imagining what they might be doing in the alternate dimension, if the reason they weren’t back yet was because Spike hadn’t found her, or if he’d found her and the two were fighting, and if they were fighting, did that mean they were fucking, too, because god knew, with their tempers and how much Spike loved a good fight, it was more than a reasonable conclusion.

Thinking about them was worse than when he’d found out about Riley. He didn’t have intimate knowledge of Riley, his military background notwithstanding. Without any effort at all, he could conjure up images of what exactly Spike would be doing to Buffy, how he was probably making her beg for more, and…

Yeah. Crazy.

Well. _Crazier._

He passed the small kitchen where he heard Giles on the phone with Andrew and headed straight for the open door of the study. When he stopped on the threshold, Ilona had her back to him, head tilted as she scanned the book spines lining the far wall. As he watched, she pulled one out and flipped it open, crimson-tipped fingernails turning pages at a scarily rapid pace, while her eyes flickered over the text at what should have been an inhuman speed.

She might look like somebody had painted her into her dress, and she might try to distract her clients and opponents with the neverending cleavage, but this was more than enough of a reminder for Angel about who she really was. Nobody became the head of a branch of Wolfram and Hart without being cunning. For all her so-called talents as a diplomat, he knew there was enough acuity there to be wary.

“You won’t like that one,” he commented, leaning against the door jamb. He was glad to see her jump, slamming the book shut at his sudden arrival. “I’m pretty sure the good guys win in the end.”

Her unease lasted for only a moment, the familiar smile returning to greet him. “Is all a matter of perspective, no?” she said. “Good, bad, who cares for such labels when one is in the thick of it? The bad guy, he always has his reasons. To him, perhaps he is the hero and everyone else…simply does not understand him.”

Angel shook his head. “Nah. I don’t buy it. You’d be surprised how many guys I’ve brought down who were evil, just for the sake of being evil.”

A casual shrug of Ilona’s shoulders somehow pushed her breasts closer together, and Angel scowled as he automatically glanced at them. Fuck. She had to do that on purpose.

“You do not come to me now to debate this, I think,” she said. “The Slayer…she still has not awakened?”

“No. But I didn’t come to talk about her, either.”

“Then William?” A sly gleam appeared in her dark eyes. She was smiling as she chose that moment to lounge on the chaise, the slit in her skirt exposing most of her toned leg. “A vampire of his talents should have few problems enticing such a young girl. Though, perhaps, after the Immortal, her tastes have---.”

There was no way he was going to let her finish that sentence. “You said there was a price for the clock and the original spell,” Angel interrupted. “I want to discuss it.”

Ilona frowned. “You wish this now?” She shook her head. “This is not so wise. You are distracted, too worried about your Slayer friend. We should wait and talk the business after, no?”

“No. We won’t wait and we’re going to talk the business _now_.” He prowled into the room, kicking the door shut behind him with a liquid sweep of his foot. She remained unruffled as he loomed over her, though he didn’t really expect any different. She dealt with a wide range of intimidating figures, even the Senior Partners if his suspicions were correct. She would not be cowed by a lone, pissed-off vampire. Big mistake. “Don’t think because I haven’t brought it up yet that I’m not fully aware of your intentions,” he continued. “But Buffy is and always will be a priority. I suggest you remember that.”

“You and William make it very hard to forget,” Ilona replied. “I do not understand the attraction of this one girl. Paolo has the same clouded vision, I think. He could have any woman he desires, and yet, he chooses this one. It is puzzling.”

“Jealous?”

Her brows arched. “Of a Slayer? I value my life too much to ever wish to be in her shoes. But what of your jealousy, Angelus? It drives you, even now. Why waste such petty emotions when there are other, so much more pleasurable emotions to dwell upon?”

His mouth was open to respond when it dawned on Angel what she was doing. “Ah, ah, ah,” he said, wagging a disappointing finger at her. “This is like those discussions we had on the opera. You think you can distract me from what I really want to talk about. It’s not going to work, Ilona. Not this time. We made a deal. Tell me what you expect in return.”

She didn’t move, her large dark eyes unwavering as, for once, she seemed to weigh her words. “The Senior Partners are not convinced of your dedication to your work,” she said. “This payment is to them, not to me.”

“I kind of figured that. What more do they want from me? My soul?”

Ilona laughed, a rich, hearty sound that filled the room for several seconds. “I love your sense of humor,” she managed. “It’s so unexpected sometimes.”

He hadn’t meant it as a joke, and it annoyed him that she would see it as such. “And what exactly is wrong with my soul?” Angel demanded. It was hard to keep the petulance out of his tone. “It’s perfectly good. Most of the time.”

Her amusement subsided, though her breasts continued to jiggle as she chuckled silently. “The Senior Partners, they have already attempted to take your soul, do you not remember? And they witnessed your behavior last year when you had that unfortunate encounter with the Beast. Without your soul, you are too unpredictable, too variable for them to control. They have no desire to see you without it now.”

His features remained unmoving though his mind twisted with possibilities. “If I find out they want to mess with Connor again---.”

“And have their work unravel even more?” Ilona shook her head. “They would not be so foolish as to tamper with those kind of magics any time soon. Such a strike will only come when you least expect it.”

Though his stomach coiled at the prospect of having to fend them off in the future, Angel remained calm. “Then what?”

She regarded him with a close scrutiny. “It is not a thing they wish from you,” she said. “It is your aid. They require your assistance in a particularly…delicate matter.”

Her continued skirting around the subject was eroding his last nerve. “Just tell me what it is,” he ground out. “The Senior Partners can’t expect me to fly blind, and if you stick with this song and dance routine, I’m going to start getting cranky.”

A single arched brow shot up in amused curiosity, but Ilona refrained from any further evasion. “There is too much instability amongst your staff. The Senior Partners wish you to eliminate it.”

There was a catch. There had to be. But…

“All they want me to do is fire a bunch of people? I do that at least once a week already. Just check with Human Resources.”

“No, no, what they want is not so immense. Just one person. And they do not wish him so much as fired, as eliminated.”

Now that made much more sense. “They want me to kill this person.”

“Yes.”

“Any hints on who this walking target is then? And you better not say it’s Wesley. I know he’s been a little on edge lately, but that’s because of what happened with Fred. He’ll come back around. He always does.”

“It is not Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. The Senior Partners are actually quite pleased with his performance.”

“Then who?”

Ilona sighed and sank back into the couch. “It pains me to say because I adore him so, but the price for the Slayer’s life is William’s. You must kill Spike.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy refused to back down on her decision to stop Adam, while Angel confronted Ilona and discovered Wolfram & Hart wanted Spike killed in payment...

No amount of heaving breast or curvaceous leg was going to tear Angel’s disbelieving eyes away from Ilona’s. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said. “First, they saddle me with Spike because of that damn amulet, and now they want me to get rid of him for them? And they do realize that _technically_ , he’s not even a Wolfram & Hart employee, right? They don’t have to kill him to even things out in LA. All they have to do is throw a Slayer at him. Trust me. It’s like throwing a stick away from a dog. He’ll be too distracted running after her to pay me or them any attention at all.” _Hopefully_ , he added in his head.

A dismissive wave of her hand accompanied Ilona’s casual shrug. “They have tried this,” she said. “The Senior Partners, they were not satisfied with the results.”

His mouth opened to question when in hell they’d sent Buffy after Spike when Angel’s brain made the connection and his jaw snapped shut again.

Not Buffy.

Dana.

An insane Slayer that should have been drugged up on thorazine, suddenly lucid and on the loose, convinced Spike was the object of her pain.

“ _Lindsey_ was the one who aimed Spike at Dana,” he said carefully.

Ilona smiled. A chill ran through Angel. “Lindsey gained information regarding the Senior Partners’ intents and used it for his own purposes. They were quite pleased when it expedited their wishes.”

His mind raced, thoughts playing through the events of the past few months, all the incidents where Spike had inexplicably been in the path of harm. “What’s the big deal about Spike? All that business with the chalice was a fake.”

“His presence is disruptive to many,” Ilona explained. “He fosters rebellion, he encourages alternative paths. For instance. It was his influence that brought you to London, no? Would you have put Buffy into such a position if it weren’t for him?”

They both knew the answer to that. Spike was far more reckless and impulsive than Angel had ever been. That didn’t mean he was always wrong, though.

“But kill him?” It still seemed extreme. “Can’t I just leave him here? It’ll take him forever to get back to California on his own.”

“You do not believe this. Besides, William has the nine lives. The Senior Partners grow weary of his…complication.” Her eyes narrowed in speculation. “Why is it you balk so?” she asked. “I would have assumed you would be amenable to the payment. After all, did you not pave the way for the Old One? And that vessel was human, not a vampire.”

He hated having to play along that he’d been a part of Fred’s death. The only thing he could be grateful for was that Spike wasn’t around to hear this.

“Spike has a soul now.” A fact he was sure to remind Angel about every single day. “And regardless of how I feel about him, he’s the one upstairs right now helping Buffy. I would think for as many hoops as you’ve already jumped for the Immortal, that that would count for something.”

“Oh, it does. To me. But I am not the Senior Partners, and Paolo…” Her smile faded. “…he has his own reasons.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet he does,” Angel muttered. He didn’t like this, not even a little. Though he had no qualms about making the trade in lives – and ultimately, he was fairly sure Spike would say the same thing if the circumstances demanded it – he didn’t like being dictated to about it. When he finally throttled Spike, it was going to be because he wanted it, not because a bunch of higher-ups told him to.

Ilona rose to her feet and stood toe-to-toe with Angel, her breasts soft where they brushed against him. “You are not seriously considering refusing their request?” she asked, her voice low and far more solemn than he had ever heard before. “Because this is not a wise decision, Angelus. This will only make your life that much more miserable. As a Wolfram & Hart employee, you must know that no good can come of such independent thinking.”

“Lucky for me, I wasn’t hired for my thinking skills then.”

“Even more reason for you to be careful. You must do this. You agreed to the payment.”

Angel shook his head. “A life for a life. Leave it to the Senior Partners to be so literal. But I think I’ve made my position on Buffy’s well-being perfectly clear.”

“Perfectly. But after? When she is safe and secure? How will you act then?”

“Yes, Angel.” Giles’ matter-of-fact tone behind them took Angel by surprise, and he turned to see the Watcher regarding him steadily from the open doorway. A cocked crossbow rested easily in his arms, trained on both of them, while the mini-Watcher who had let him and Spike in so blithely hovered behind. “Do tell. Should I expect dead bodies in my beds today, or will you save your bloodlust for after you’ve betrayed Buffy this time?”

* * *

Buffy ignored her Spike’s frown as she slipped out of Giles’ room to help Other Spike begin retrieving weapons. It was almost a relief not to be in his presence, not to feel the weight of his gaze as he followed her every movement, not to see the evidence of his responses to their fighting. More than once, she had felt the old pattern begin to slip into place and had to push it away. Succumbing to them with the Other Spike was one thing; giving this one – hers – hopes about what could happen between them was something else entirely.

She didn’t have time to get lost in her thoughts. As soon as they were out of earshot of Giles’ room, Other Spike was speaking.

“It’s not true, you know,” he said. He didn’t look over at her, keeping his stride long and his gaze forward. “Wouldn’t have let you slit your throat on this plan, no matter what the other me claimed.”

“I know. He wasn’t there when you argued with me the first time.” Her mouth canted into a half-smile, soft with memory made real with his presence. “But telling him he missed out on being the first to give me hell about it would probably have made it all worse.”

Other Spike’s response was an awkward roll of his shoulders. “Can’t blame him. If I was in his shoes…”

She kept waiting for him to finish the thought, but it never came. In the end, Buffy decided maybe it was better that way.

When they reached his room, she hung back as he opened the door, suddenly self-conscious of what had happened the last time they’d been alone. It didn’t help when he glanced back at her over his shoulder, head tilted in that dangerous way Spike seemed to have a patent on, his eyes uncharacteristically fathomless as he waited for her to follow. Buffy swallowed and pushed past, refusing to respond when she brushed against his hard arm.

“The more portable the weapons, the better,” she said, going over to the shelves to survey their contents. “Small and lethal. That’s what we want.”

“What we want. Yeah.”

She heard him too late.

Her hair whipped across her cheeks as Other Spike grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, driving her back to a narrow strip of bare wall. Buffy hit with a force strong enough to knock the air from her lungs, and in the seconds it took for her to get it back, he was pressed against her, all lean muscle and powerful hands pinning her to the cold concrete.

“Want this,” she heard him growl. In the next moment, his mouth was fused to hers, fingers questing beneath the hem of her top to explore the soft skin at her waist while his tongue pushed past her teeth to sweep and taste and devour far more hungrily than he had even that morning.

She could have pushed him away. Buffy’s life might have been in chaos, but that didn’t impede her Slayer reflexes _that_ much. He was still a vampire and she still knew what her primary job was. There was enough time for Buffy to shove him off before any kissing ever got started.

She didn’t want to.

She tore into him with every ounce of frustration and pain she’d felt ever since opening the door to a Spike who shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t have stayed away, should’ve done what he always did and stuck around even if she didn’t want him to. Except she had, she had finally accepted just what his place in her life was and he had gone and died on her and then come back without saying a word and how dare he be too scared to fuck things up? It had never stopped him before. Spike did what he wanted and the rest of the world could just go to hell.

That was the way things were. Had been. That was the way she had thought they always would be.

Before her world got turned upside down. Before her eyes got opened about what choices could really mean.

Buffy didn’t know when the kiss changed. One minute, her lungs were burning and her eyes squeezed shut. The next, her eyes burned from unshed tears and she had all the air in the world because Other Spike’s mouth was no longer on hers.

She gulped and swallowed as he moved over her jawline, forcing back the tide of emotion that had momentarily overwhelmed her. Buffy threaded her fingers in the long hair at his nape, ready to pull him off, but the impulse was stifled by the gentler strokes of his fingers, the hunger that had marked his initial assault replaced with that indecipherable need that had blanketed his attentions in the freezer. His hard thigh was wedged between her legs, rocking against her clit in slow, maddening strokes, but all Buffy felt was the cool air against her neck as Other Spike spoke to her in the softest of murmurs.

“Could always stay, you know. Have your mum, have your Watcher, have Tara, all here, all ready to welcome you back.” His mouth settled at her ear, the tip of his tongue darting out to trace the delicate shell. “We beat Adam and his band of merry wankers, and the Hellmouth is yours for the takin’, luv. No reason you can’t get your life back, start it all over, start fresh.”

He’d almost had her.

In the back of her mind, in places she would deny existed until dragged kicking and screaming to confess, Buffy had given more than one thought to what he suggested. Was it alluring to think she could have her mom back? Hell yes. Would it be nice to be needed again, to be unique and powerful and the one the world looked to help banish the darkness? Buffy couldn’t deny the attraction there, either.

But Other Spike made a fatal error in his argument.

This wasn’t her life. Not really. It never had been.

And this wasn’t her Spike.

Slowly, carefully, Buffy moved her hands to his chest and pushed, breaking the contact between their bodies. It took Other Spike by surprise, and he stumbled back, dark brows drawn together into a thick line as he gazed at her in confusion. It took only a moment for him to see what he was looking for.

“He’s a bloody fool, you know that, right?” he said, taking a further step away.

“Maybe,” Buffy conceded. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she pushed her hair off her face, grateful for the balm of space to clear her head. “But he’s my bloody fool.”

“Oh?” Seeing the truth and accepting it were apparently two very different things to Other Spike. “You haven’t even kissed him. You want him back in your life so bad, why is it you’re snogging me and not him?”

“It’s not that easy---.”

“Bollocks. For somebody who’s always been so quick to paint demons in black and white, you sure as hell are quick to look for the gray in your sad excuse of a love life, Slayer.”

She pulled herself straighter. “My love life is not sad!”

“Really? Three words for you.” He ticked them off on his left hand, starting with his thumb. “The. Soddin’. Immortal.”

“Leave Paolo out of this.”

“Your precious Paolo is the only reason I’m in this, if you care to remember.”

With a cry of frustration, Buffy shoved Spike out of her way and marched back to the shelves. “I am so not having this conversation with you again,” she said. “Let’s just get the weapons and get back to the others, OK?”

“No, it’s not OK.”

This time when he grabbed her shoulder to whirl her around, Buffy reacted without pause. She twisted with the flow of the movement, swinging her right fist around to connect with his nose. The force of the blow sent Other Spike reeling back, but he caught himself from stumbling long before he hit the bed.

“Damn it,” Buffy muttered. Some of her anger evaporated seeing the thin trickle of blood dribble from his nose, but when Other Spike wiped it away and then promptly sucked it off his thumb, she snorted.

“Glad you get your jollies from my discomfort, pet.”

“Do you see us?” Buffy said. She gestured between them. “This is exactly why my Spike and I haven’t jumped in each other’s arms. Because if you think you and I have baggage, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

“I didn’t say---.”

“Yeah, you pretty much did.”

She folded her arms over her chest, lifting her chin as she waited for him to continue the argument. Because he would. No version of Spike could stop fighting once it got into his blood.

Only…he didn’t. Other Spike’s finger came up, jabbing at her as if to make a point, and his mouth opened to speak…but then he froze. The dark gaze that had been glaring so furiously at her slid sideways, over her shoulder, and fixed on something so intently that Buffy couldn’t help but turn around to see what was so fascinating.

Shards of glass littered the shelf behind her, small fragments of the crystals that had been their early warning system for the attack that morning. Other Spike’s footsteps were heavy as he marched across the floor, shoving Buffy out of his way as he stood and stared at the small pieces.

“What is it?” Buffy asked.

Other Spike didn’t say a word. With a broad sweep of his arm, he swept the other debris off the shelf, ignoring the mess he made on the floor as he studied the crystals. When apparently that wasn’t enough, he moved to the shelf below it, clearing it in the same manner, and then to the one below that, until the entire unit was empty except for the pieces of glass.

“I’m glad I’m not your roommate,” she commented dryly, looking at the mess he’d made.

“Where are they?” Other Spike said. He stood back up and reached for one of the shards, turning it over in his fingers. “Do you see them?”

Buffy frowned. “If you’re talking about the crystals, you’re holding one. C’mon, Spike. I didn’t hit you that hard.”

“No, you daft bint. The two that didn’t break. There were two left when we came back down. Me and Tara cleared away the broken pieces, and we left the ones still intact here.” He scanned the shelves again, but nothing magically appeared. “Where’d they go?”

“Maybe the hybrids broke them.”

“Not possible. Tara fixed it so that the only thing that breaks ‘em is---.”

“There you are.”

The low, even voice made goosebumps erupt along Buffy’s bare arms. Knowing Adam was still around was one thing; hearing his chilling voice after four years was something else entirely. She and Other Spike turned their heads at the same time to see him and Riley blocking the doorway.

Adam smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “And here I thought my brother was mistaken about Hostile Seventeen and the Slayer he was protecting. I believe this is the first time I have ever been grateful to be wrong.” He glanced at Riley. “My apologies for not believing you.”

Riley’s gaze didn’t break away from Buffy, boring into her so intently that she had to fight not to take a step back. Though she didn’t see it, she heard the unmistakable sound of metal being unsheathed. “Let’s do this,” he said.

“Yes.” When Adam shifted his attention back to Buffy and Spike, his smile was gone. “Let’s.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Angel argued with Ilona, but Giles walked in and overheard only the worst part, while Buffy went to retrieve weapons with Other!Spike, only to get found by Adam and Riley...

Spike had done a lot of hard things in his time. Gone to the Slayer for help when he first got chipped. Fought for his soul. Found the secret level at the top of the native fortress area in Crash Bandicoot. But watching Buffy walk out with his less well-groomed self, smelling her arousal, knowing she had already shagged the vampire once a few hours previous and would now be alone with him again for more than long enough to get off a second – and likely third, fourth, and fifth – time, ranked right up there with the hardest of them.

He sat slumped in one of the chairs at the table, glaring at the door while the others hustled and bustled around him. The new plan was better than the old one, if only because he would be there at Buffy’s side to keep Finn from getting his hooks into her, but Spike still didn’t like it. Everything would be much simpler if she would just accept the fact that she couldn’t control everything in every dimension. Of course, then she wouldn’t be Buffy, and maybe he wouldn’t have fallen in love with her stubborn spirit and her unwillingness to admit defeat. Irony was a real bitch sometimes.

“Get off your ass and stop brooding on her,” Giles growled at him. Spike swiveled his head to see the Fyarl hefting a large chest out of Tara’s way, tossing it aside like kindling. “Unless you want to lose her yet again, in which case, carry on.”

“I’m not brooding,” Spike snapped.

“You are a little,” Tara interceded.

Joyce placed a stuffed duffel on the table in front of Spike, standing in the way of him and the others. “Buffy knows too well what’s at stake. She’s not going to do anything foolish.”

“She’s not the one I’m worried about,” he muttered.

In the background, Giles snorted. “I can’t believe you’re jealous of yourself. She’s leaving with you, isn’t she? Isn’t that enough?”

It should have been. And Spike knew he was being unreasonable about the whole matter, but bugger, they didn’t know how tenuous his relationship with Buffy really was. They hadn’t been there for all the times she’d walked away from him, and they hadn’t seen the look on her face when she realized he’d been back and kicking for months without saying a word to her. They could be as logical and reasonable as they wanted to about this, but those had never been adjectives to describe his relationship with her. He and Buffy would forever be contrary to that.

Spike remained hunched in his seat, stealing glances at the closed door, while the others finished organizing the supplies they were going to take with them. After ten minutes, his heel began tapping against the floor. After fifteen, he shifted so that he faced it more directly. He wanted to be the first thing Buffy saw when she walked back in. After twenty-five, he scraped his chair across the floor and stormed over to tear the door open, stepping into the hall to look up and down it.

“Where the bloody hell are they?”

Tara appeared at his elbow, but instead of pulling him back inside as he expected, she edged past and further out into the hall. “It shouldn’t be taking this long,” she murmured, slim brows drawn into a frown.

“And you lot thought I was being daft.” Without pause, he took off in the direction of Buffy’s scent.

“Where are you going?” Tara said, scurrying to follow.

“To drag the Slayer’s bum back. We don’t have time for her nonsense.”

“I’m sure she’s not---.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure she is.”

He kept his gaze forward, retracing Buffy’s path. It grew stronger with every step, but when they turned the corner that led to the Other Spike’s room, something else joined the smells of Buffy and the other vampire, something dark and demonic.

Something with metallic undertones.

His skin crawled. His thoughts lurched. That couldn’t be right.

Ten feet from the room, he sensed the blood.

Tara called out when Spike broke into a run, but he ignored it, racing to the doorway. He knew before he reached it what he would find, but that didn’t slow him down, and it didn’t stop him from skidding to a halt once he’d thrown the door open. His eyes scanned the room, noting the destruction that looked so much like that back at Giles’.

Shelves torn from the wall.

Glass shards crunched into the concrete floor.

No sign of Buffy or the other version of himself anywhere to be seen.

But there was blood. Lots of it. Smeared across the walls, the door frame, on the floor. Most of it was demon, and though Spike recognized the scent of his own amongst the aromas, it was the very definite shallow pool near the exit that filled him with dread.

“Oh my god…” Tara murmured behind him. She rushed past as he crouched down to more closely examine the blood near his feet and went straight for the broken glass on the floor. “They came back?”

His jaw ached from how tightly he was clenching it. “They came back.”

“There’s no dust.” Tara’s voice was shrill, her eyes wild as she turned to Spike. Even across that distance, the sudden race of her heart pounded into his skin. “Tell me they didn’t kill him. Tell me!”

He shook his head. “Some of this blood is his.” Bracing himself, he dipped his finger into the pool and lifted it to his mouth, licking off the still-warm fluid.

The blood sent an electrical shock through his veins. His cock jumped.

_Buffy._

Adam had both of them.

* * *

For a brief, furious moment, Angel wished he had forced Spike to stay behind in LA. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t come along, Angel would still be in Rome, working with Ilona to find the cure for Buffy. He wouldn’t have run away in the middle of the night, and he wouldn’t have had to make a deal with such a high price, and he definitely wouldn’t be facing the wrong end of a Watcher’s crossbow. Everything bad that was happening was all because of Spike. Angel should have tossed him into one of the holding cells like Pavayne to keep him from coming.

Except Spike was the sole hope they had in waking Buffy up in time.

Which left Angel scrambling to try covering his ass. Again.

Spike was going to owe him big time.

“It’s not what you think, Giles,” he said, turning his back on Ilona. She was a problem he’d deal with later.

“Oh?” The crossbow never wavered. “So I didn’t just hear you contemplate killing Spike?”

“No, you didn’t. You heard me debating the payment.”

“Oh, there is no room for debate, Angelus,” Ilona said, gliding up to his side. “You agreed, therefore it must be done.”

Giles’ eyes grew colder. “Spike’s our only hope for Buffy. I’ll dust you myself before I let you touch him.”

Angel snorted. “Since when did you become his champion?” he challenged. “I heard what you did last year, setting him up with Nikki Wood’s kid. You’d like him out of the picture just as much as I would.”

“I did what I thought was best for Buffy at the time.”

“Yeah, and how’s that working out for you? Buffy’s living the high life in Rome, you setting up shop here all the way across the Channel.” He didn’t really like the idea of baiting Giles, but the longer he kept the man talking, the longer he had to put Ilona off. “Face it. She wrote both of us out of her life a long time ago. And we both know the reason why.”

Giles’ mouth thinned. “For someone who claims not to wish to hurt Spike, you’re making a very good case against that,” he said. “Perhaps I had my issues with him in the past, but I can’t deny the fact that he’s still willing to do whatever he must for her wellbeing. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about you, Angel.”

“I would never hurt Buffy. You know that.”

“Do I?”

“You should. Haven’t I done everything I can to prove that? I even left Sunnydale because it was in her best interest. That’s a hell of a lot more than Spike ever did.”

“Spike gained his soul for her. You now run an evil law firm. Yes, I can see exactly how you would think that in her best interest.”

He stared at Giles, wondering how to respond. A distant knock at the front door took all four of them by surprise.

“Go answer it,” Giles said to Daniel without looking away from Angel.

The smaller Watcher slipped away, but already Angel was relaxing. “What you think of me doesn’t matter,” he said. “Just because they want me to kill Spike doesn’t mean I’m going to.” When he heard Ilona’s intake of breath to speak, he held up a hand to cut her off. “Best way to piss me off is to tell me what to do. The Senior Partners should have warned you about that.”

“I believe that’s the first thing you’ve said that I agree with,” Giles said softly.

Ilona sighed and returned to her seat on the couch. “You make a serious mistake, Angelus. I do not wish to be in your shoes when the Senior Partners discover you will not comply with the agreement.” Her gaze flickered to his feet. “Especially those.”

Giles hadn’t moved. “If you weren’t going to agree with her, why did I hear you even discussing the matter?”

“I believe he was stalling.”

Angel didn’t smile, though the quick start Giles made at the sound of Wesley’s voice behind him was definitely on the humorous side. “Took you long enough,” he complained to Wes.

Giles stepped back, allowing room for the new arrivals to enter, though the crossbow remained at the ready. Daniel was the first to scurry past, taking a post in the far corner, followed by Wesley carrying a small box, and then Illyria.

“He is not accustomed to interdimensional travel,” she said to Angel. “We were delayed by his weak constitution.”

“Yes, well, my constitution aside…” He stopped, noticing the weapon in Giles’ hands for the first time. His suddenly wary gaze jumped back to Angel. “Is everything all right?”

“It is now.” He nodded to the box. “Were we right?”

“We were.” Reaching inside, Wesley pulled out an ornate carriage clock, so small that it rested comfortably on the palm of his hand. “Knowing about the sanctuary spell helped tremendously. It meant the housekeeper couldn’t stop us once we were already inside. Then it was only a matter of locating what we wanted.”

Angel frowned. “The Immortal didn’t try to stop you?”

“He wasn’t there, actually. Should he have been?”

That was a detail that Angel didn’t like, but before he could question Ilona about it, she was standing and brushing past his arm, approaching Wesley with her gaze fixed on the clock.

“How did you find it?” she murmured.

Before Wes could reply, Angel hurried around to cut her off. “We don’t have time to worry about the how,” he said. “The important thing is, the Immortal can’t control you with it any longer. So this is the deal, Ilona. You help us, you get the clock. You fuck around with us any more, and I’ll turn it over to the Senior Partners myself. I’ll bet they won’t be nearly as charming about it as the Immortal has been.”

Her gaze jumped between Angel and the clock more than once. It was the first time he had ever seen her look less than composed, but by the time her attention fixed back on him, her jaw was set and her eyes resolute.

“Agreed.”

* * *

Her head was killing her. And her eyelids were vibrating from the force of her headache. And Buffy was pretty sure that if she opened said eyelids, she would throw up.

Part of her was tempted to do it anyway, if only to see the look on Adam’s face when he got regurgitated blue kool-aid all down his front.

As she gradually became aware of her surroundings, Buffy felt the gentle rocking that had woken her up – as much as the headache had – come to a stop. There was the sound of a door sliding open, followed by heavy steps against metal. Her world tilted, and her stomach lurched. Someone was picking her up. She tried to move, but her limbs refused to obey her commands, and it wasn’t just the heavy chains she could now feel weighing her down. Her muscles weren’t listening to her brain, and she scrambled frantically to try and figure out why. Or how. But all she got were random images from the fight.

_Spike leaping forward to attack Adam._

_Adam batting him away like a fly._

_Riley approaching her, his eyes dark and dead._

_The shelves crashing into his jaw when she tore them down and swung at the last minute._

The rest was a muddle. She had fought with everything she had, but in the end, against both Adam and a demonic Riley, she hadn’t had a chance.

There was one up-side to this, though. She was alive, and they had obviously taken her away from the high school. She was going to be able to strike Adam from within. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to do it the way they’d originally planned, but she knew where his power source was. If she was smart about it, she could still finish this once and for all.

She just had to get control of her muscles first.

The arms that held her were strong and hard, and when the air shifted from warm to cool, Buffy took a risk and peeked through her lashes. Sterile white surrounded her. It was the Initiative all over again.

And it was Riley who held her.

Buffy closed her eyes again and focused on her breathing. This could work to her advantage. Riley obviously had a thing for her, hence the second direct attack. If she could manipulate him, get his guard down, she could still get to Adam. Nobody back in the high school would like that plan, but then again, nobody back in the high school was in her unique position.

Nobody except for Spike.

Was he still alive?

She couldn’t remember what had happened to him.

A door opened. The temperature changed again, this time going back to warm. Too warm. The door shut again.

“You can open your eyes,” Riley said. “I know you’re awake.”

She refused his command. A low growl rumbled against her cheek, and his steps became long and jagged as he carried her further into the room. When he dropped her unceremoniously onto something soft, she reacted on instinct, struggling against the chains that fell across her throat and blocked her air, but her arms and legs were still refusing to cooperate.

“Open your eyes and I’ll move the chain.”

Buffy knew she didn’t have a choice. This time, she obeyed.

He stood over her, dark against the white. Large gashes split his brow and jaw, and there was dried blood where his lip had split. As soon as their eyes met, Riley bent down and slipped the chain away from her neck, letting it rest along her collarbone.

“See?” His mouth curved. If it hadn’t been for the grafted demon skin on his face, she would have called it a smile. “Do as you’re told, and you and I will get along just fine…” He reached and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “…Buffy.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike got impatient and went after Buffy, only to find the room trashed and Buffy and Other!Spike gone, Wes showed up with the leverage Angel needed to use against Ilona, and Buffy woke up to find herself Riley's captive...

She watched him prowl around the room, deceptively lithe in spite of his size. Riley had always been very aware of his body, but becoming half-demon had given him something he had never had as a human. Grace. Maybe it was a side effect of the transition, or maybe it came from the added years with the enhanced features. Either way, it gave him the appearance of a predator far more than he had ever exhibited as a commando, like something that capable of jumping out of the bushes and slashing your throat open before you even knew something was there.

It also made it so much easier to dissociate him from the Riley she had known and cared about, demon grafts notwithstanding. Now if only her muscles would start working, Buffy would be a happy Slayer.

He had brought her to what looked like a private room, sparsely furnished with the bed she laid on, a dresser, and a wall of weapons protected behind by locked glass doors. A door led to what looked like a private bathroom, and after making sure she was settled, Riley retreated there with a first aid kit in hand. The sound of rushing water filtered through the door he kept open, and she saw his arms moving up and down, the claw on the back of his hand very much visible, as he washed off the worst of the blood on his face.

Her mind raced. She had to figure out a way to get out. She had to find Spike, make sure he was OK.

“I’m not who you think I am, you know,” she called out. “I mean, I am who I am, but it’s not the who you think you know because the who you knew isn’t me.” She stopped, cringing at how she sounded. _God, I’m channeling Willow._

“I know you’re not the same Buffy,” Riley replied from bathroom. The water turned off, and she lost sight of him in the doorway. “I saw her die.”

Her fingertips tingled. Being careful Riley didn’t unexpectedly step out of the bathroom, Buffy wiggled them beneath the chains. Bonus. Bit by bit, her strength was returning. Whatever poison or drug they’d used to sap it away was fading.

Riley emerged, drying his hands off on a towel, and she immediately stopped moving. “Did the witch bring you back to fight for them?” he said. “Is that what happened?”

There was a split second where he sounded like her Riley, and she had to wait while her good sense returned before responding. “I don’t know exactly what happened,” she admitted. It had been mostly true at one point anyway. “But they have nothing to do with this.”

He frowned. “They have everything to do with this. Hostile Seventeen and his rebellion are the only reason Adam hasn’t come to full power yet. That’s unacceptable. They must be stopped.”

“So if you think I’m fighting on their side, why didn’t you kill me back at the high school? Because, gotta say, as far as the big evil plan to take over the world goes? Bringing me back here kind of sucks.”

His mouth thinned, and his eyes grew cold. “Your capture is not part of any plan. Hostile Seventeen, on the other hand, will serve a definite purpose.”

Buffy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing in relief. So Spike _was_ alive. As long as that remained true, there still remained hope.

“I think you’re going to be surprised if you think that’ll change anything for the others,” she said. “They’re organized, and even better, they care about their humanity. Whatever you do to Spike will only make them stronger.”

Folding his towel, Riley stepped back into the bathroom in order to place it neatly on the sink. “That is not your concern.”

“Newsflash. Anything to do with Spike will _always_ be my concern.”

He moved so quickly that Buffy barely heard his footsteps. One moment, he was blocked from view by the bathroom wall. The next, he was bending over her in the bed, his powerful hand around her throat, squeezing tightly enough to make it difficult to breathe.

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear.” His breath was hot as it fanned across her cheek, and his face was so close that Buffy could count the stitches along his cheekbone where human skin met demon flesh. “You’re alive only because I wish it so. If you do not want to become the next of Adam’s experiments, I strongly suggest you never mention Hostile Seventeen’s name to me again. Do you understand, soldier?”

She steeled against letting him see how dizzy the lack of air was making her. “It’s _Buffy_ ,” she said, matching his low tone. “And I’m not one of your soldiers.”

Her heart pounded, struggling for oxygen. Finally, Riley loosened his grip, though his fingers stayed against her neck, the tips beginning to caress her in slow, even strokes. “No,” he murmured. “You’re a Slayer. And now you’re mine.”

* * *

Paolo watched Hamilton stand at the window, looking over the London skyline, and wondered briefly why he was even bothering with the man. He respected his certainty that all would work out, and he appreciated the sense of calm the liaison carried, but in light of the current situation, Paolo did not believe it was necessarily well-placed. The vampires had already proven unpredictable, and order had been more than disrupted. He didn’t tolerate such chaos even from those he trusted. The Senior Partners were most definitely not on that list.

A sharp knock at the door rang through the spartan apartment. Without hesitation, Hamilton went to answer it, his footsteps silent in spite of the hardwood floors. At least the man knew his place.

In light of the vampires’ capriciousness, it made perfect sense to see Angel standing on the other side of the threshold. He filled the narrow doorframe, his face a dark mask of barely constrained anger, and when his gaze flickered past Hamilton’s shoulder to see Paolo lounging on the couch, there wasn’t even a modicum of surprise. Behind his shoulder stood a man with shrewd blue eyes. That one was human. Paolo frowned. Where was the other vampire?

“Angel,” Hamilton greeted. “You should have called. I would have had a car sent for you.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” He tried to enter, only to be blocked. Growling in frustration, Angel said, “Invite me in.”

“I am afraid he cannot,” Paolo said, rising from his seat. “This is my home. The signore is my guest.” He took a few steps closer. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I think you know what.”

“Indulge me.”

Angel glanced to his companion and stepped aside to allow him to address Paolo and Hamilton more directly. “The Slayer’s taken a turn for the worse,” the man said. “We’ve come to discuss her situation with you.”

“And you are…?”

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I work in Los Angeles for Wolfram & Hart.”

“I hadn’t realized Angel was calling in his big guns,” Hamilton said. “Inventive.”

“The circumstances dictated more mojo than the Watcher’s Council could provide.” Angel glared at Paolo. “Are we going to stand here and play twenty questions, or do you want to actually help Buffy?”

The decision was simple. “Come in. Let us…talk.”

The door whispered shut behind them, and the four men met in the middle of the room. Gesturing to the others to sit, Paolo waited until he was the only one left standing before speaking again. “You said she is growing worse. How do you mean?”

Though he addressed Angel, Wesley was the one to reply. “Her temperature continues to rise,” he said. “We’ve attempted to lower or at least keep it in check utilizing traditional methods, but because it’s mystically generated, we’ve been unsuccessful. At the current rate, if she doesn’t wake up, she’ll be dead before sunfall.”

Paolo glanced out the window at the cloud-covered sky. Rain spattered on the glass. “That is unacceptable.”

“Have you spoken with Ilona?” Hamilton asked. “From my understanding, she’s quite knowledgeable about the original spell and knew how to counter it.”

“She does. That’s not why we’re here.”

Angel leaned forward, arms resting on his forearms as his eyes bored into Paolo’s. “We know how to wake Buffy up,” he said. “We’re choosing not to.”

His head snapped up, the first visible sign of agitation he’d exhibited since Buffy’s unfortunate encounter. “What does this mean?” he demanded. “You kidnap her from my home, you take her away from everyone who can possibly help her, and now, you will allow her to simply die?”

Paolo’s outburst made Hamilton shift uncomfortably in his seat. “Angel, I don’t think you understand the sensitivity of the situation—“

“Oh, I understand it all right. I understand that you attempted to blackmail me into helping by putting a price on a Slayer’s life. So tit for tat, Hamilton. You want Buffy to live? Then so does Spike.”

It took a moment for Paolo to realize that that must have been the price that had been discussed in the car. But it was Hamilton’s silence that drew his immediate concern.

“Signore? Tell him he must do whatever it takes. I do not employ your firm to sit idly on their hands while those I care about suffer.”

Angel snorted, but Hamilton had grown thoughtful. “He’s bluffing,” he said. “Buffy Summers is too important to him. He’s using this to manipulate us into releasing him from his payment agreement.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.” Angel nodded to Wesley, who pulled a small cell phone out of his coat pocket. “Never say I don’t come prepared to our little meetings.”

As everybody watched, Wes dialed a number. His eyes were solemn as he met Paolo’s, but his terse command of “We’re ready” was even more chilling.

The demand to know what exactly was going on was ready on Paolo’s lips when the air shimmered on the far side of the room, growing thicker and taking form as it coalesced before his eyes. Hamilton rose to his feet when a regal woman with blue hair appeared in the room, but it was the sight of Ilona struggling against the woman’s vise-like grip that made Paolo pause. His gaze flickered back to the two men on the couch, but both seemed unperturbed by the disruption. It would seem they were more than content with their little display.

“You gods never really grow out of your need for grand entrances, do you?” Hamilton commented. But there was no amusement in his tone, his eyes steel as he approached. “Let her go, Illyria.”

Illyria turned her eyes to Wesley, who nodded without a word. Abruptly, she released her hold on Ilona’s arm and took a step back.

“Do not think such disgraceful behavior will go ignored,” Ilona spat at Angel. It was the most vehement Paolo had ever seen his old friend in a long time. Clearly, the vampires’ allure had faded for her. “As soon as I return to my offices, the Senior Partners will be told exactly how you have treated me, how despicable you have been.”

“I think that might happen sooner rather than later,” Hamilton mused. He shifted toward Angel. “What exactly is the meaning of this?”

Angel shrugged. “You think I’m bluffing. I just brought along an uninterested third party to testify that I’m not.”

“Uninterested. Bah.” Ilona’s mouth curled into an angry sneer. “You dishonor everything we do in Rome, Angelus. This is not how you conduct business.”

“No. This isn’t how _you_ conduct business. This is exactly how _I_ get things done.”

Turning his back on their petty arguing, Paolo crossed the room to Ilona. He took her arm gently and led her a few feet away from the fray, absorbing the heat of her body as he began to caress her elbow. He felt her anger begin to dissolve, dissipating like so much fine dust beneath his attention, but it shocked him at how vibrant it was, how its edges felt like slivers of glass beneath his skin.

“What has happened?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur. “Tell me. He cannot harm you while you are safe in my home.”

An electric shock jumped from her to him, small and almost undetectable. Paolo narrowed his eyes as she carefully extricated herself from his grip, though she remained in touching distance should he feel the need to explore her emotions further.

“The Slayer is still asleep,” she said. “I am so sorry. I gave them the clock and the spell, and they found the necessary counters to save her, but…” For a moment, she looked like the ingenue who had captivated him in her street performances, soft and eager for guidance. She had been a delicious distraction for those months she’d shared his bed; Paolo chose to believe that he was the reason for her success now. “They choose not to,” she finished.

“I’m curious, Angel…” In spite of Ilona’s appearance, Hamilton sounded unconvinced. “Where’s Spike? I would have thought he’d be here lobbying for his life just as adamantly as you. More so, even.”

“Somebody had to keep an eye on Buffy,” Angel replied without pause. “He knows as well as I do that we can’t afford to lose our only collateral.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised he agreed to this little stunt. We believed he was as obsessed with the Slayer as you were. After all, he did die for her only last year.”

“Which is exactly why he’s not jumping through hoops to do it again. A soul doesn’t stop you from being selfish.” Angel scowled at Paolo. “Obviously.”

“They mean what they say,” Ilona said. “They even restrained the Watcher to keep him from interfering.”

Paolo considered all of it, the vision of Buffy lying pale and wan in his bed overlaying his careful thoughts. He did not enjoy being played so by the vampires, and he knew Hamilton liked it even less, but this was not the time for his pride to get in the way. There would be ample time afterward for retribution; the important thing at this stage was to get Buffy awake again.

“Agree to his terms,” he ordered Hamilton. “I will not lose my Buffy because the Senior Partners cannot control their own.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple—“

“Yes, it is, signore. You will find another payment to exact, or I will have Ilona draw up the necessary paperwork to sever all of my ties with your firm.” He looked to her for confirmation, knowing she would nod in agreement before she did so.

Hamilton pulled himself straighter. “I’ll see what I can do.” To Angel, he added, “I suggest you do the same. Before you lose your collateral for good.”

“Now was that so hard?” Angel commented, rising to his feet.

Though he would have loved to beat the smirk off the vampire’s face, Paolo didn’t say a word. He simply walked over to his wet bar and reached for his favorite red wine.

* * *

The smell of blood in the cool, sterile air was thick and pungent, drawing forth memories of battles he had waged over the past four years. Adam stood at the long counter that lined one wall of the operating room with a small smile on his face and a smaller blade in his powerful hand. The sensations were strange, but the journey back from the Hellmouth had been enlightening, to say the least. Riley claimed it was because he was happy, but Adam didn’t recognize those feelings. He was more interested in cataloging the various responses his flesh created.

Perhaps it was because the fruition of all his hard work was finally at hand. With the capture of the Slayer and Hostile Seventeen, he did not believe that the dissidents would last much longer. This was a heavy blow, and Adam had every intention to take advantage of it. His top strategists were already planning the next attack, and his soldiers all prepared for the battle to come that night. There would be no time for the dissidents to regroup.

He would finally win.

He worked quickly, efficiently, arranging his surgical tools in the order in which he would need them. The demon parts he planned on using laid in wait of attachment, and the only sound in the room was the metallic click of his scalpels against the tray. Those would come later, though. There were other steps to be taken first.

Turning to the operating table, Adam surveyed the unconscious Hostile Seventeen. The poison from Riley’s claw meant blood still trickled from the deep gash in the vampire’s temple, matting his hair to his head, and bruises bloomed all along his bare torso where he’d taken numerous heavy blows. They would heal well enough after the surgery, but for now, Adam had to treat the poisoning. It wouldn’t do for Hostile Seventeen to be too weak from blood loss to participate in the fight that night. Adam was quite looking forward to watching the vampire tear apart the very same people he’d spent the last four years protecting.

His smile widened.

Perhaps Riley was correct.

He was happy.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy measured the depth of her situation with Riley by arguing with him, while Angel blackmailed Ilona into backing his story to the Immortal, that the payment either got changes or he'd let Buffy die, while Adam had Other!Spike on his operating table...

They moved like people possessed, finding each other’s rhythms in a way that would have been uncanny if Spike had actually stopped for a second to consider it. But immediacy was their primary concern. Make haste. Find the girl. Or in Tara’s case, find the vampire.

They returned to the others at a breakneck speed, the decision made without any more words exchanged between them, the invisible devil of fear at their heels. There was a brief moment where Giles began to query what was going on, but one look from Joyce was all that was necessary to shut him up. He grabbed the duffel before Spike could, eyes flashing with a violent fire that had Spike glad he had a pissed off Fyarl on his side for the upcoming fight. It wasn’t going to be pretty. It wasn’t going to be pleasant. It better fucking do the trick to get Buffy back once and for all.

This was different than not waking her up. This was terror about what that psycho Adam might do to her, about getting there too late and seeing her as some sort of demon hybrid without any of the shine or any of the vibrancy that lit her from within. This was having no choice but to kill her, knowing that Buffy would hate such a thing to be done to her.

This was dread at having to kill Buffy in front of her mother.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spike glanced at Joyce. Her jaw was set, her eyes hard. Like the others, she was ready to go into battle.

He was not going to disappoint any of them.

Their footsteps crunched over debris as Tara led them through the basement maze. When they reached a stairwell leading up, Spike hesitated for the first time since discovering Buffy was missing.

“I fancy you lot have means to move your vamps about during the day, yeah?” he asked with a lifted brow.

“Would I bring you this far without one?” Tara shot back over her shoulder.

It was good enough for him. He took the stairs two at a time after that.

The exit brought them out in the school’s old cafeteria, and Spike smelled residual traces of Buffy and his other self lingering in the exposed air. “Adam must’ve brought them through here,” he said.

Tara shook her head. “No, this is where Spike brought Buffy to hide when she wouldn’t go into the Hellmouth…” Her voice trailed off, guilt averting her gaze.

“Ah. Right.” When they’d shagged. He didn’t need a picture painted for him. Now that he had context, Spike could detect the fading scent of Buffy’s pussy, wet and succulent. His other self had never stood a chance.

Sunlight streamed in through the broken wall, forcing Spike to hang back as the others stepped forward. Tara’s order to wait was obeyed without question, and the seconds dragged as he watched the trio disappear around the edge of the building. Each was another marker against him, another opportunity missed to get to Buffy before it was too late. Was this going to be the story of his unlife? A series of chances missed, of being behind time, of watching events unfold beyond his control.

He had hoped those days were behind him. Closing the Hellmouth should have been his turning point. Working with Angel in LA had almost convinced him there was a real place for him, where his actions mattered. He couldn’t go back to being second-best. He wouldn’t.

Save the girl.

Save Buffy.

Die trying.

A flicker of movement shattered his dark thoughts, and he stood straighter as Giles came running back, his awkward demon gait making him lurch almost comically in his speed. A familiar blanket dangled from his fingers. Spike almost grinned at the irony.

With his head and body shielded from the sun’s rays, he followed Giles back to the van Tara had idling on the road, hopping into the open end and leaving Joyce to close the door behind him. Tara accelerated almost immediately, the screech of tires against the cement cutting through the van’s walls. Nobody spoke. There was no need. There was a job to be done, a job they all recognized. Perhaps if it was anybody else other than Buffy or his other self, they might have taken a more pragmatic view of the situation and waited to bring reinforcements.

Spike would have had to thump the lot of them if they’d tried that.

Tara cornered tightly, a surprising expert at the wheel of the van. Soon, she was pulling the vehicle to a halt and killing the engine, and the others were moving, gathering together the supplies with smooth efficiency. “This is Adam’s central base of operations,” she explained to Spike. “They live here, they train here, they do all their experiments here. Nobody’s seen the inside up close and personal, but we had a computer hacker once who got us floor plans.” She glanced at Giles. “But that was over a year ago. Things might have changed since then.”

“I don’t need a map to find Buffy,” Spike replied. He arranged the blanket closer over his head. “Do we have an actual plan? Or are we just goin’ in and winging it? Not that I have a problem with that. I’ve done some of my best work by the seat of my pants.”

“Actually…” Her hand tightened on her bag of magical supplies. “…are you OK if we split up? You follow your nose, and we’ll see what we can do to help my Spike.”

His gaze darted between the three grim faces, all resolute, all ready to do what was necessary to save one of their own. To save him. A flame ignited deep within his gut, and his lip curled into a smile. There was a lot that was wrong with this world, but there was a lot that was right, too. It was easy to see the appeal it held for Buffy.

“Will do,” he said. “Who knows? Maybe the pair of them are already givin’ Adam hell. The Slayer and me have a way of comin’ out swinging when our backs are to the wall.”

“Yeah,” Tara agreed with the first smile he’d seen from her since discovering the broken crystals. “You do.”

Giles pulled the van door open, and Spike made the dash to the door they’d parked outside of. He didn’t think. He didn’t contemplate deeper meanings. He had a job to do.

Find Buffy.

* * *

She had no idea what Riley was doing. Over the time they had dated, Buffy had thought she’d gotten to know him pretty well, able to predict his sometimes fragile moods, able to anticipate what his needs might be. Of course, the fact that he’d gone off in search of nightly suckjobs without her ever even noticing the damn bite marks on his arms didn’t say a lot for her powers of observation in her personal life, but still, there were definite patterns to Riley’s behavior that she was sure she could predict.

This was not one of them.

He wouldn’t stop moving around the room. After his creepy announcement about owning her, he had started obsessively cleaning the room, wiping down every available surface, going through the drawers to refold everything they contained, dragging a broom out of the closet to sweep the floor. She didn’t know what he thought he was doing. The room already looked spotless to her. When he’d exhausted all his cleaning options, he had pulled the chair over to the side of the bed and sat to watch her in silence.

That lasted five minutes. Then he was up and moving around again. Like he had ants in his pants, Willow would say.

Buffy finally cracked.

“If I’m keeping you from something,” she said, “be my guest to go do whatever it is.” _And stop driving me crazy with the waiting._ “Really. Go.”

He stopped in the middle of the room to look at her. She had to steel her limbs to stay completely still, so that he wouldn’t be able to tell she was getting her strength back. Buffy had a feeling she would only have a single shot at escaping. If it failed, the next time he chained her up, she didn’t think he’d be so easy on her.

“I don’t need to prepare like the others,” Riley said. “I won’t leave until it’s time.”

“Time? For what?”

He smiled, some of his frenetic energy dimming. Her skin crawled. Maybe she shouldn’t have spoken up in the first place. “Do you really want to hear how we’re going to destroy your friends, Buffy? Because after the fight tonight, there won’t be anything left of them. Except for the pieces we decide to collect and use for our purposes, that is.”

He was right. She didn’t want to hear this.

“You’ll fail,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “You always do, remember?”

His hands curled into fists at his side, but at least he didn’t come back to try strangling her again. She saw the muscle twitch in his jaw, the ragged graft between the demon skin and his own smoothing over the stretch of bone. “I got you, didn’t I? I would hardly call that failing.”

Oh yeah, talking was definitely of the bad. Everywhere she turned the conversation, another big black cloud appeared. Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting out another question she wouldn’t like the answer to, Buffy remained still, staring at him, waiting. For something.

He waited longer.

“I don’t understand,” she finally murmured. “The Riley I knew would have fought to the death not to become the monster you have. How could you let Adam do this to you? How could you let yourself slaughter so many people when it goes against everything you ever wanted?”

His eyes narrowed as she spoke. “All I ever wanted was to make a difference,” he said. “To _matter_. Nobody besides Adam has more power than I do. I command troops who would die before disobeying me. So if you think to presume you know me, think again. The world is a different place than it was before you died.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered.

“I have everything I’ve dreamed about now.” Slowly, Riley advanced back to the bed, stopping at the foot. His fingertips skimmed up her calf, and she had to struggle not to jerk away from his touch. “Sooner or later, you’ll see. It’s better this way. No woman ever challenged me the way you did, Buffy. I thought at first it was a Slayer thing, but the other one, as…entertaining as it was to learn from her…” His hand stopped at her waist, and she felt the coldness of his skin as he slipped a hand beneath her top to caress her stomach. “…it didn’t take me long to figure out she wasn’t you.”

She had a sickening feeling where all this was leading, but there was no way Buffy was going to let it get that far. She would bide her time and wait for her opening. This was going to be a one-time opening only.

“Bride of Frankenstein is such a bad look for me, though,” she said, keeping her tone light. “So, if it’s OK with you, thanks, but no thanks.”

His hand paused, his gaze lifting away from her torso to meet her eyes. “Adam is not touching you. I thought I made that clear.”

“But isn’t this new and improved version of you supposed to be all superior to my flawed, human self?” And then it all clicked into place. And in spite of the anger the understanding sparked, part of Buffy felt sorry for Riley. “That’s it, isn’t it?” she continued softly. “Demon you plus human me equals you finally getting to be the strong one in our relationship. As long as Adam doesn’t try to turn me into one of his hybrids, that is. That’s what this is all about.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But she did. She knew it all too well.

And now she knew exactly how to make it work to her advantage.

* * *

The antidote to the poison didn’t start working until halfway through the operation, making it bloodier than Adam would have liked. It left his fingers and tools crimson-stained, too tacky to use again without a proper cleaning. Pushing back from where he’d been bowed over Hostile Seventeen’s unconscious body, he rose from his stool and carried his tray to the sink, setting it on the side and then turning on the tap. Hot water splashed inside the deep basin. Waiting until it reached a temperature to cause discomfort, he set to the task of rinsing his hands first before turning his attention to his scalpels.

The first phase of Hostile Seventeen’s transformation was a success. It was a step he didn’t normally take in the hybridization process, but this one had special circumstances. It would make him infinitely more effective in the raid against the Hellmouth and likely double his body count. Adam would do anything to acquire statistics such as that.

When he turned to dry his hands, his gaze was captured by the security cameras displayed on the desk computer. They had been inert when he had started, with the exception of the activity in the training room with the troops. Riley’s room was blacked out. For privacy issues, Riley had said when he’d requested Adam do so. But it wasn’t those that made him step closer to the screen. It was the sight of a certain blond vampire prowling through the inner halls of his sanctum.

Adam looked over his shoulder to confirm his patient was still on the operating table. He was. His head swiveled back to the computer. How was this possible?

Hostile Seventeen looked like he had when Adam had first been awakened, from the tips of his bleached hair to the leather hem of his black coat. But that coat was gone. It had been destroyed in an early battle in the rebellion, a casualty to a flame thrower and an overzealous private. The image in the monitor looked healthier as well, better fed, and there was a confidence to his swagger that spoke of freedom.

It could be magic. An illusion to distract him.

He searched the other screens for another anomaly, anything that would explain the intruder’s presence.

He saw the van almost immediately. Parked at the rear of the building, near the service entrance the vampire hybrids used for quick sewer access. Its near vicinity was deserted, but a faint glow from the cab betrayed its occupants. The source of the magic. For whatever reason, they wanted him to believe there was an intruder on the premises.

“Interesting,” Adam murmured.

It had to be the dissidents. Their favored witch was growing increasingly powerful. He looked forward to bringing her in and subverting her prowess for his own desires. With both the witch and Hostile Seventeen working with Riley, Adam would be unstoppable.

He smiled. It was even better to think she had made it easier for him by coming to him. Of course, she would have to be captured first. He reached for the phone to call the training room and order the soldiers down to apprehend the van’s occupants.

A pale hand shot out and gripped his wrist in an iron lock, stopping him in mid-reach.

Frowning, Adam turned to see Hostile Seventeen standing at his side. He had never heard him rise, but the fact that the hostile shouldn’t even be conscious was more worrying. The vampire’s curls were in wild disarray except for a section at the back of his skull, matted down there from the blood that had dripped during the removal of the chip. But it was the orange glow from his steady eyes that made Adam hesitate. These weren’t the eyes of a vampire wearing his demon visage. These were different.

And when Hostile Seventeen spoke, his deep voice seemed to almost echo.

“We don’t think so…”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike and everyone went to rescue Buffy and Other!Spike, splitting up once they reached Adam's lair, Buffy figured out how to get away from Riley, and Adam started operating on Other!Spike only for Other!Spike to wake up...

They made a motley group, Giles cramped and curled as he tried to sit against the side of the van, Joyce and Tara on either side of him. Candles marked each of their places, including the vacant fourth, and they flickered at the same rhythm of the trio’s even breathing. The spell they had altered for their purposes rested forgotten in Tara’s hand, words scribbled out, others written in, a visible declaration of hope they had clung to as their last resort. All three were focused on inner images with eyes vacant and jaws lax. All three were pouring the remainder of their belief into the magic. They had to. It was all they had left.

Joyce’s lips parted as the words flowed from her mouth. “We grow weary of your tyranny…”

* * *

Adam’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps the operation had not been as successful as he had hoped. “Your speech patterns have become odd,” he mused. “Return to the operating table. I shall need to examine you more closely to ensure I did not damage any necessary functions.”

Hostile Seventeen’s grip didn’t waver. If anything, it grew tighter.

“And you still fail to understand. This is why you never beat us. You cannot conceive the impossible.”

Higher reasoning had to have been affected as well, Adam realized. The vampire was making little sense, his statements contradictory within themselves. His good mood faded. He would be of no use in the raid now. He would be of no use to Adam at all. There was little choice but to destroy him.

His free hand shot out, ready to wrap his fingers around Hostile Seventeen’s neck and snap it from his body. He never made contact.

The vampire crushed the heel of his hand into Adam’s sternum, breaking the contact between them and sending the larger demon back against the wall. Plaster shattered behind his back, raining down around his shoulders in loose dust that left him feeling gritty. Adam was back on his feet within a fraction of a second of impact, but the vampire appeared completely unbothered by the brief attack.

“What is this?” Adam asked. His mind worked as he tried to find a logical reason for this new turn of events. “You should not be this strong.”

A ghost of a smirk twisted the vampire’s mouth. “We have always been this strong. It is you who has been weak.”

“Yet you are the ones who hide.” He took a step closer, bringing him within the necessary distance. Bending his arm, Adam sent mental instructions to his hard drive to re-order the weapons in his arm until the one he required was in place. “It shall be my pleasure to drive the rest of your resistance out of their holes. It is too bad you shall not be there to witness it.”

* * *

He felt like Hansel. Hell, he’d be all right feeling like bloody Gretel if it got him to Buffy faster.

Spike found the first drop of blood outside a bank of elevators. The building had the appearance of being bathed in bleach every day, so the scent of her assaulted him almost as strongly as the sight of the splash of red against the white molding. Though it was far from necessary, he crouched to examine it more closely, rubbing it between his fingers as if to grind it into his skin.

Buffy was definitely here. And the trail was fresh. She had been alive when they’d brought her in. Now he only had to suss out which room in this place they’d stowed her away in.

He pressed the button for the lifts and waited until the one opened that carried her scent the strongest. Then it was a matter of descending, floor by floor, testing empty corridors for further signs. He found it on the fourth.

And saw the droplets lead away from the steel doors like a death march.

* * *

The cut on her forearms was still bleeding. Buffy could feel it chafe against the heavy chains, making them slick so that they slid along her skin in tiny fractions every time she fidgeted or shifted her weight. Riley seemed oblivious to her state, but then again, he seemed more interested in the taut expanse of her stomach than anything else at the moment.

And her time was running out.

“Do you remember sparring with me?” Buffy asked, keeping her tone as solicitous as she could manage. God, she hoped they’d gotten that far in this dimension. It would make all this so much easier. “Remember when we agreed to pull out all the stops?”

His fingertips came to a stop, hovering along her side. Something dark and flinty flashed in his eyes, and his jaw hardened. “What does that have to do with anything?”

She held his gaze for a long minute. “I lied.”

Her meaning sank in almost immediately. Jerking his hand away, Riley straightened and took a step from the bed. “That’s not true.”

“You’re only saying that because that’s what you need to believe. And you wanna know something else? It wouldn’t matter if Adam turned me into some corpse bride. I would still be better than you.”

“I beat you. I won. You can’t deny that.”

“You jumped us from behind with weapons,” she scolded. “But maybe that’s not so unexpected. You need every advantage you can get, I suppose. Because we both know that given the opportunity, I could kick your ass from here to hell and back.”

Riley’s lip curled into a sneer. “I don’t need assistance in order to best you, Buffy. I’m a far superior soldier to when you knew me before. I will always win.”

“Oh, yeah? Prove it.”

It was a risk, but the Riley she had known would never be able to resist a challenge. He was far too competitive. She was counting on those qualities being multiplied in a demon Riley.

“You can’t even get free of your restraints,” he said. “You would never be able to fight me.”

Buffy took a deep breath. Slowly, with Riley’s gaze following every movement, she lifted her right hand and grasped the nearest link of the chain. It took a concerted effort, but within seconds, she had wrenched it free from the string, allowing the rest to fall from her arms. He stiffened though didn’t approach when she shoved them off and rose from the bed to square off.

Lifting her chin, she regarded him with every ounce of certainty she didn’t feel. “Want to try that again?”

* * *

Adam loved the sound the skewer made as it was released. He loved the way it sounded when it sank into soft, unforgiving flesh. He loved the squelch it made when he withdrew it, sticky with blood.

He was cheated when Hostile Seventeen accompanied the first discharge with a wave of his hand and some muttered words that sounded like Sumerian.

The skewer disintegrated to ash before his eyes. He felt it spread up and into its sheath, like an itch he couldn’t reach, and in all those seconds, the orange glow of Hostile Seventeen’s eyes remained steady. It infuriated more than it did anything else, and he rushed forward at lightning speed, grabbing the vampire and tossing him as casually as he had been thrown only a minute earlier.

“The witch has been training you,” he said, advancing even before Hostile Seventeen had landed. “It will not make a difference. You will still die.”

His next blow connected with the operating table instead of the vampire’s head, punching through the metal and momentarily trapping his wrist in its ragged binding. At Adam’s elbow, Seventeen rose to his feet and clapped an unyielding hand on the larger demon’s shoulder.

“We will not. We will do as we always do, regardless of whatever power you think you might have. We will carry on, and we will thrive, and you shall forever wonder why it is you lost.”

An excruciating agony shot down Adam’s arm as the vampire curled fingers beneath the scars of stitches made four long years previous, tearing them open and tearing them free.

Then he couldn’t feel his arm at all.

* * *

There was a terrifying moment of vertigo when the world wavered at the corners of her vision, but Buffy stamped it down with years of practice, holding her ground as Riley stared at her. Disbelief raced behind his eyes, followed swiftly by anger, and then ending in grim determination. He even smiled. Its iciness made her shiver.

“You will still lose,” he said.

Buffy smiled. “Only one way to find out.”

It was only a moment that he looked away from her to reach for the weapons cabinet, but she had known he would. Riley was a soldier, through and through. Even with built-in demon parts, he had to fight with the tools that were known to him.

Buffy was a Slayer. She fought with whatever tools were handy.

Where the speed came from, she had no idea. But she was grateful for every advantage it gave her as she scooped up the chain. It made a low, heavy whistle as she swung it, but Riley’s new agility wasn’t enough to get him out of its path as the links wrapped around his ankle. Buffy yanked, pulling him off-balance and onto his back.

He screamed in frustration. Before he scrambled back to his feet, though, Buffy released the chain and grabbed the bed, tossing it so that the edge of the frame landed heavily on his chest. She heard his sharp exhalation as the air was driven from his lungs, and then his grunt of pain, but she refused to give him time to recover. Picking up the chair, she lifted it over her head and brought it down, legs first, around his powerful thighs.

One steel leg was driven into the muscle, pinning him to the floor.

Her heart thundered. She knew she should kill him, finish it off so that he couldn’t get to anybody else. She also knew her adrenaline-fuelled strength was already waning. Death would have to wait another day.

Buffy leapt over his downed form, racing for the door. She only got two feet before she felt an iron grip around her calf, sweeping her legs out from beneath her so that she landed flat on her stomach.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Riley snarled.

She tried to roll over, but he was too strong, keeping her prone, slowly dragging her across the cold floor toward him.

* * *

Spike heard the scream like a low rumble through to his bones. It was closer, but not close enough, and he broke out into a run as he chased the echoes down the hall. They burned in his ears, setting every nerve alight, and by the time he reached the point of origin, he was half-convinced he was too late.

He tried the door. It refused to budge.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Spike’s head snapped up at the menace in Riley’s voice. Straining his ears, he realized he could hear the distinctive pounding of heartbeats on the other side of the door.

And the unmistakable sound of somebody being dragged.

“Buffy!” he shouted, pounding on the intractable metal separating them.

There was the sharp crack of bone shattering, followed by another shout. It was too low to belong to anybody but Riley, but Spike didn’t rest on the satisfaction that his girl had got a good hit in. With a growl, he stepped back and looked over the door, trying to figure out how to open it. There were no hinges, the smooth white merging with the wall at a smooth seam. Next to it was a keypad, a small red light blinking in the corner. An electric lock. Figured.

He curled his fingers around the edges of the plastic, digging to get a grip. The fight continued within the room, spurring him to try harder, put as much strength into yanking the bloody thing off the wall. Blood dripped from his fingertips where the plastic split his skin, but then it came off with an unexpected jerk, a small pop announcing the short in the electricity.

Spike tried the handle again. This time, it turned easily.

* * *

This was a new sensation. A new feeling. Adam was sure of it. Because there was only way to characterize his state of mind as he stared at the vampire.

Incredulous.

It shouldn’t be possible. Vampires did not possess that kind of strength. Vampires did not turn the finest tempered metals into dust. Vampires were lower demons, scarcely worth the time and bother to change into something better.

This vampire was proving all of those facts – suppositions – wrong.

Adam tried to twist out of Hostile Seventeen’s grip, but it refused to budge, keeping him trapped against the operating table with his cheek pressed to the cold metal. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement,” he suggested. Desperation drove him to it. “I can offer your people protection. You only have to let me go.”

“You would offer,” Hostile Seventeen said in that eerie echoing baritone. “And then you would withdraw it. This is the way you work.” He leaned in, his mouth close to Adam’s ear. “But no longer. We shall be safe, but it will not be due to your amnesty.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw the vampire draw his arm back. He only had a moment to wonder what Hostile Seventeen was going to do before the vampire swung and punched a hole through his body armor, through his spine, into his rib cage, grasping the uranium core before extracting it along the same path.

“What…? How…?”

Then the synapses failed. He barely saw the orange glow fade from Hostile Seventeen’s eyes. The last sound Adam ever heard was a muttered, “Bloody hell…”

* * *

The sound of Spike’s voice just on the other side of the door gave Buffy the distraction she needed. Her heel kicked out and connected with the side of Riley’s face, crunching his cheekbone and stunning him enough to loosen his hold on her. She scrambled to her feet. As much as she hadn’t thought she could do it right now, she knew she had no choice but to kill Riley before she left. He would never let her go, otherwise.

He tried to grab her again as she made a dash for the weapons on the wall, but she was too fast. Smashing her fist through the glass, Buffy took the first something sharp her fingers touched, breaking more glass on its exodus. Blood dripped from the fresh cuts on her hand, but she didn’t have time to consider the pain or the fact that her head was spinning or that breathing was becoming a difficult thing. She only had to concentrate on one thing.

Riley tossed the bed off his body, shoving it toward her so that her path was blocked from reaching him right away. “This proves nothing,” he rasped.

Buffy shook her head. “Were you always this dense? Face it, Riley. It’s over.”

“No. It’s only---.”

An electronic screech filled the air. The next second, the door was torn open, and Spike – _her_ Spike – was flying through the opening, launching himself toward Riley. The two men grappled in a flurry of snarls and fists, allowing Buffy the time to get a proper hold on the lethal dagger in her grip. The fight freed Riley’s leg from where it was pinned, but as soon as he was on his feet, she vaulted over the bed that separated them and buried the blade between his shoulder blades.

Spike stumbled back, getting out of the way as Riley tried to reach around and pull it out. His heel slipped in a pool of blood, and he fell onto his back, the force driving the knife in even deeper. He coughed once, and then twice, blood staining his lips.

Buffy witnessed the second the light died out in his eyes.

When she started to sway, Spike was at her side in a shot, strong arm around her waist, guiding her back to the door. “Van’s outside,” he said. “Just stay with me ‘til we get to the lifts—“

“No.” She tried to pull away, but the adrenaline from the fight was already ebbing. “We have to find Spike. The other Spike. Adam has him. He’s going to…we have to find him.”

“Tara’s doin’ her mojo to juice him up,” he explained. “If Adam has him, he’s either beat him or dust. Either way, there’s nothin’ you can do.”

“I don’t care,” Buffy argued. “I have to try.”

“No, we need to bloody get out of here while we can.”

She looked up to see Other Spike standing in the broken doorway. Blood matted his curls, and the skin was broken on his knuckles, but otherwise, he looked perfectly fine.

The Spike at her side stiffened. “You escape?”

Other Spike smirked. “Yeah. Right after I tore out that wanker Adam’s power source. Should’ve seen me. I was all—“

Buffy didn’t hear the rest of the story. The world went black around her.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: The joining spell worked to allow Other!Spike defeat Adam, while Buffy managed to escape Riley's clutches with her Spike's help, killing him in the process, only to fall unconscious once she realized everything was okay...

Her cheek felt hot against the pillow, the cotton unexpectedly soft against her skin. Groaning, Buffy lifted a hand to her aching head, trying by force of will to subdue the pounding inside her skull. “Next time I feel the urge to take on a super-demon with a heavy grudge against me, remind me I’m not as young as I used to be,” she muttered to whichever Spike she was sure was next to her.

“It is my experience that power grows over time,” an unfamiliar female voice said. Buffy’s eyes shot open to see a woman with blue hair standing at her bedside, her head cocked in curiosity. “Do Slayer powers diminish with the passing years?”

“Now who the hell are you?” Struggling to sit up, Buffy collapsed back onto the bed, wondering why her body felt like it was on fire. That was when she noticed the room she was in. No Initiative white or chrome anywhere to be seen, nor any of the grunge chic that exemplified the high school basement. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought from all the heavy wood and shelves crammed with books that she was in Giles’ spare bedroom.

“I am Illyria,” the woman said. “I shall fetch the Watcher. He will be very glad to see you have awakened.”

She was halfway to the door when her meaning sunk in past Buffy’s headache. She really was in Giles’ house. She was home.

Her heart twisted.

Where was Spike?

She had only started to gather enough strength to try sitting up again when Illyria returned with Giles – her Giles, no horns or huge powerful hands in sight – in tow.

“Buffy,” he said, relief shading his voice. Rushing to the side of the bed, he pressed her gently back into her pillow, his hand immediately going to her forehead. “You must rest. You’re burning up.”

“You mean that doesn’t automatically go away now that I’ve popped back to my own dimension?” she joked. Her heart wasn’t in it, though. Her brain was too busy mulling over the multitude of questions waking had sprung.

“Go get some cold water,” he instructed Illyria. Giles moved his hand from her brow to her wrist, checking her pulse against his watch. “It took time for your temperature to elevate, Buffy. It’ll take time for it to go back to normal, I’m sure.”

“I’m back, that’s the first step. But where’s Spike? He’s here, right? He kind of explained what you guys were doing, but where is he?”

“Relax. He’s in the next room. Now that you’re awake, I’ll go do the spell to bring him back.” When Illyria appeared at his elbow, he took the glass she offered and held it to Buffy’s mouth, helping her swallow some of the refreshing fluid. When it was half gone, Giles set it on the nightstand and straightened. “Rest. This won’t take long.”

Buffy watched him leave, but when Illyria didn’t follow, she frowned. “Don’t you have to help him?”

“The Watcher does not require my assistance,” she replied. “And I have strict instructions from Wesley to look over you.”

“Wesley? Wyndam-Pryce?”

Illyria cocked her head. “Do you know another?”

“No, but…” The ache in her head was growing worse. Spike had said Angel was as involved in seeing her wake up as he was, but Buffy had thought the entire LA crew had sunk to the lower end of the evil curve with their alliance with Wolfram & Hart. “Where’s Angel? Maybe it would help if he explained all this.”

“He and Wesley remain with the liaison and the so-called Immortal.” Illyria’s lip curled in disdain, her tone shifting to match. “His appellation is fraudulent. He is less than a millennia. At the height of my reign, I had slaves who were older than he is.”

All Buffy heard was Angel and Immortal in the same sentence. If Spike had reacted so vehemently against Paolo – twice – there was no telling what Angel was doing to him.

Summoning all of her strength, Buffy pushed back the blankets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Are they in the house?” she demanded, gripping the edge of the mattress until the vertigo had passed. “I am so going to kick his ass if he’s laid a hand on Paolo.”

“They are not. They are in the Immortal’s home in the city. I do not know how to get there except by traveling through dimensions.”

Inwardly, she sighed. If she never saw another dimension, Buffy would be a happy camper. But for the time being, she’d do what she had to. “Take me there.”

“I do not think—“

“Which makes it a good thing I’m not telling you to think. I’m telling you to do whatever you can to get me to Angel. And please tell me it has nothing to do with a clock.”

Illyria stood up straighter. Buffy thought that if she stiffened any more, she’d turn into a corpse. Of course, some of that strength would be really good to have right about now. “In light of their negotiations, I do not believe that would be a wise decision. I refuse.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Negotiations? For what?”

“For the white-haired one’s life.”

Buffy sat agog as Illyria briefly delineated the plan she’d been a part of. “And Paolo was privy to all this?” she demanded.

“It would appear so.”

“Nobody’s going to kill Spike.” She stood, anger her primary motivation now. “Please, Illyria. I’m not going to just lie here and do nothing.”

The silence stretched. Illyria never blinked.

“Perhaps there is a way for us to do as you request without destroying their treaty,” she finally said.

Buffy exhaled with relief. “Good. Let’s go.”

* * *

One moment Spike was leaping into the waiting van, his smoking blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his other self’s hand helping haul him to safety.

The next he was staring into Rupert’s clear eyes, with the junior Watcher standing at the foot of the bed, shaking like a leaf.

“She’s here, right?” Spike said, sitting up. “She vanished right in front of me. Tell me she woke up and we didn’t take too long to kill that wanker.”

“Yes, Buffy’s awake,” Giles replied. “She’s resting. Who did you have to kill?”

“Long story.” Pushing past the Watcher, Spike marched out of the room and across the hall, shoving open the closed door to see her for himself.

He was greeted by an empty bed.

“Rupert!” He whirled, only to find Giles standing right behind him. “You left her alone? Have you gone completely addled in your old age?”

“I did not leave her alone.” It was Giles’ turn to shove past, knocking Spike into the jamb as he went into the bedroom to see for himself. “Where could she have gone? I left her with that woman Wesley brought. Illyria.”

Spike frowned. “What the hell is Blue doin’ on this side of the pond?” He listened as Giles explained about Ilona’s price, following when the Watcher headed downstairs to see if maybe Buffy had gone down there. It was a shock to hear the lengths Angel had gone to get out of paying his bill with the Senior Partners, but as soon as he heard Angel was still there, he knew exactly where Buffy had gone.

“We’re not goin’ to find her in the pantry,” Spike said when Giles headed for the kitchen. “She’s gone. Back to her new honey. Hope she sticks in it.”

“The Immortal? Why on earth would she do that? He’s the one responsible for this entire mess.”

Flopping onto the couch in the front room, Spike shook his head. “After everything I saw her do in that other dimension? I’ve stopped tryin’ to guess what’s goin’ through Buffy’s head.” He closed his eyes, trying to block out the look on her face as she’d insisted on going back for the Other Spike. There had been moments when he had thought – when he had hoped – that maybe she’d be open to working things through when they got back. It stung to think she hadn’t even waited around to see him before scarpering off back to the bloody Immortal.

There was a soft creak of springs as Giles took a seat opposite. “But you convinced her to come back,” he said. “And you explained what his involvement was in all this, correct?”

“I did. Didn’t exactly do any convincing, though. All I did was make sure she didn’t get herself killed.” He snorted. “And even then, almost didn’t make it. Daft bint.”

“Why don’t you tell me everything that happened?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Let’s reserve judgment on that, shall we?”

Spike opened his eyes and leered at Giles. “Wanna hear all the sordid details ‘bout how you’re shacking up with Joyce, then, Rupert?”

The look of shock on the Watcher’s face was a mild respite. “Pardon?”

With a sigh, Spike propped his boots up on the table. If he was stuck waiting for Angel to come back, with or without Buffy, he might as well have a spot of fun. “See, it was like this…”

* * *

As soon as he saw Wesley disconnect from his call, Angel rose from the table and crossed the room to him, taking him by the elbow and pulling him to the side. “Who was that?” he murmured, glancing back to make sure the Immortal wasn’t paying attention.

“Illyria.” Wes frowned. “She wished to know whether or not you’d made a new deal regarding Ilona’s price yet. I told her Hamilton left five minutes ago with the new contract.”

“Illyria knows how to use a phone?”

“She’s a fallen god, Angel. She’s not stupid.”

“She put a Petri dish in her mouth once.”

Wesley sighed. “She’s come a long way since then. Though I’m curious why she wanted to know. She didn’t seem particularly interested in the mechanics of it when I sent her back to the house to watch over Buffy.”

“We’ll worry about that la—“

He didn’t get to finish the sentence. A thickening in the air, in the same spot Illyria had appeared with Ilona, caught Angel’s eye, and he turned in time to see her materialize yet again. She wasn’t alone. A wan but conscious Buffy stood at her side.

“Well,” Wes murmured. “I believe that answers my question.”

Though he met Buffy’s eyes, Angel hung back as the Immortal sprang forward and slipped an arm around Buffy’s waist. Gritting his teeth, Angel could only watch as they moved to the couch, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he tried not to listen to the endearments that fell so easily off the Immortal’s tongue. The only thing that made it more palatable was seeing the hardness of Buffy’s jaw. Angel hoped as hell that she was pissed. That would make this infinitely more entertaining.

“I’m all right,” Buffy kept repeating, even after she’d sat down. “I didn’t come here to get petted, Paolo. I came here to talk.”

The mild rebuke did nothing to stop him from pushing back the hair that clung to her reddened cheeks. “You are so flushed, cara mia,” he said. “We must get you back home, yes? I’ll tell Donatella to prepare her special remedies. We will have you alive and well soon enough.”

“In case you hadn’t notice, I’m already alive,” Buffy said. “The heartbeat pretty much gives me away.”

The Immortal seemed determined to argue. “But you are not well. You cannot deny this.”

Though her skin blazed still from the fever, her eyes were clear and bright as they met the Immortal’s. “Kind of like you can’t deny it’s your fault I’m like this in the first place?”

Angel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. There was the Slayer he knew and loved.

Her direct accusation didn’t make him falter. “I am not the one who went exploring when she was not invited to do so,” the Immortal scolded. “You should not have gone in there, Buffy.”

“And maybe you shouldn’t have kept the room a secret from me.” She sighed, and Angel caught the slight shift in the rate of her pulse. He wondered if the Immortal could tell how weary Buffy really was. “We could do this all day. But really, I’m not interested in laying blame. If I’m walking away from this with any afterschool special message, it’s that it’s all a matter of perspective anyway. You did what you did and I did what I did, and nothing’s going to change any of it. Not now.”

Some of the Immortal’s good mood seemed to be fading, his even features smoothing to an implacable mask with Buffy’s passing words. “So we move on from this, yes?” he prompted. “It was unfortunate, but as you say, it is over now. There is no point for us to belabor with the blame.”

“You’re right. It is over.”

Slowly, Buffy reached for the nearest of the Immortal’s hands, lacing her fingers through his in such an intimate way that Angel bristled just watching. He braced himself for the tender reunion about to ensue – and wished for a second that Spike was here to see it, too, because at least he would be able to count on Spike to leap forward and tear the two apart – but neither of the pair on the sofa spoke. They simply sat there, Buffy gazing with level eyes at the Immortal, the Immortal doing the same.

Until he pulled away.

“You cannot be serious,” the Immortal said.

Angel and Wesley exchanged a glance, both of them frowning, as he edged back from Buffy, putting distance between them so that their knees were no longer touching. She remained still, folding her hands into her lap.

“Nobody will ever treat you like I have,” the Immortal continued. “They cannot know as I do what it is you need.”

Buffy grew thoughtful. “No offense, Paolo, but some people don’t need special powers to figure out what’ll make me happy. They just do it by caring.”

Abruptly, he stood and crossed to the window, turning his back on everyone in the room. “I did not consider that you would not wish to return home, cara mia. You disappoint me.”

She rose as well, though her efforts were spoiled by the slight sway in her posture. Angel stepped forward to go and steady her, but Wesley’s grip on his elbow stopped him.

“I have the feeling you would have been disappointed sooner or later anyway,” Buffy said. “I mean, let’s face it. You’re still single after a thousand years? Odds are good, you’re never going to be satisfied.”

Nobody said a word. Everybody seemed to be waiting for the Immortal to respond.

“Are we done now?” Illyria said. “This silence is awkward and makes me wish to leave.”

When the Immortal didn’t move or speak, Buffy turned to Angel. “What’s the sitch with Spike? Do I need to kick some evil lawyer’s ass or just yours?”

He grinned. He couldn’t help it. It was too good seeing her up and swinging again. “We’ve negotiated a new payment. Spike’s safe. For the time being.”

“Do I wanna know what that new payment is?” She held up her hands before he could answer. “Never mind. Stupid question. I already know I don’t.”

“The Senior Partners will not be pleased to discover you were bluffing, signore,” the Immortal said without turning around. “I would be mindful of their new price if I were you.”

“There shouldn’t have been a price in the first place,” Buffy said, heading for the door. “If you really cared about me like you say you do, Paolo, you would’ve given them the spell and the clock for free.”

Buffy didn’t see the sudden jerk in the Immortal’s shoulders or hear his soft exhalation, but Angel did. He grinned as he followed her out.

“Tell Hamilton I’ll see him back in LA,” he called back to the Immortal. “I’m sure we’re going to have plenty to discuss.”

* * *

Buffy sagged against the wall of the elevator as soon as the doors whispered shut behind Wesley. “I am so ready to sleep for a week,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

“What just happened in there?” Angel asked.

“It’s called a break-up. You remember those. I’m pretty sure you and I have had a couple ourselves.”

“I think Angel is referring to the fact that the Immortal seemed to understand what you want without you actually having to say it out loud,” Wesley offered. He appeared thoughtful when Buffy opened her eyes. “He can’t be telepathic or he would have recognized Angel’s bluff sooner.”

“He can feel emotions,” she explained. “But he can only do it through touch. That’s how come everybody likes him so much. Have you seen how touchy feely they are in Italy? One kiss on the cheek and he knows exactly what to do to in that moment to put you on cloud nine.” She shrugged. “He’s probably the easiest boyfriend I ever had. I never had to tell him what I was in the mood for. He always just knew. And he had great taste in shoes.”

Angel was frowning. “So what did he sense in you?” he pressed.

Good old jealous Angel, she thought affectionately. She never thought she’d miss the day when she could deal with such a simple issue.

“You sent Spike to bring me back,” Buffy said. “What do you think he sensed?” She didn’t wait for a response. “And speaking of Spike, I need to talk to him when we get back. Can you guys leave us alone so we can have some privacy? I have a feeling things might get a little loud.”

The elevator doors slid open, but Angel didn’t budge. “Aren’t you going to tell us what happened?”

“Yeah.” Since nobody else was moving, Buffy decided to take the first step to get off. “Eventually. Maybe.”

“What do you mean maybe?”

“I mean…maybe.”

“Are we ready to return?” Illyria interrupted. Though the hallway was deserted, the distant sound of voices carried to greet them. “I grow weary of your small arguments.”

Buffy’s smile was wide. “Then it’s definitely a good idea if you’re not around when Spike and I talk,” she said. “And as grateful as I am for the offer, I think I’m going to take a good old-fashioned cab back to Giles’. I’m just a little sick and tired of all this dimension hopping.” She had only taken a few steps before she stopped and turned back. “Anybody got any money?”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy realized Spike's life was at stake and demanded Illyria take her to see Angel, where she broke up with the Immortal...

The house was quiet as she let herself in Giles’ front door. Buffy hesitated with her hand on the knob, listening for any sounds that might give someone’s presence away, but was greeted with only the faint hum of electricity and the street traffic filtering from the road. Behind her, the cab she’d brought home pulled away from the curb, and she glanced back in time to see Wesley watching her from the backseat window. Angel had insisted Wes go with her, while Illyria took him back to the house ahead of them and asked the others to give Buffy privacy. While she was grateful for his help, part of Buffy was surprised Angel gave it so readily.

She closed the door behind her. Of course, if he’d come back to get Spike out of the house so she couldn’t talk to him, she was going to have to kick his ass. And then she’d kick Spike’s for running away again.

“Spike?” she called out.

The front room was empty, as was the kitchen. Climbing the stairs, Buffy heard the faint sound of cheers and frowned as she followed them. She passed the bedroom she’d woken in and ended up in front of another room, its door slightly ajar.

“Spike?” she tried again.

A burst of maniacal laughter came through the door, followed by an electronic voice saying, “Target eliminated.” Spike’s muttered curses came immediately afterward, with a long sigh preceding his answering, “Yeah.”

Pushing the door open, Buffy saw Spike sitting on the end of a carefully made twin bed, his attention fixed on something behind the door. A game controller was in his hands, the black cord snaking between his legs and along the floor, but it hung loose, his fingers no longer manipulating the buttons.

“Hey,” she said softly. Her fingers gripped the edge of the door, unsure what to do with themselves, and her gaze strayed to the animated carnage on the TV screen. “Since when does Giles play Xbox?”

“Doesn’t. This is the junior Watcher’s room.”

“Oh.” This was harder than she’d thought it would be. She hadn’t anticipated that he wouldn’t be right in her face as soon as he saw her. “You woke up OK,” she tried again. “That’s good.”

Spike ducked his heads, toying with the control. “Yeah, well, didn’t have anything there holding me back.” He hit a button on the controller and the game fired up again. “Unlike some people.”

Though she knew she had that one coming, Buffy winced anyway. “Did you guys have any problems getting out? Riley didn’t pull a Die Hard and come back to give you a hard time, did he?”

“Last I saw, they were safe as houses,” he replied. “All in the van, all on their way back to the Hellmouth.” His fingers flew across the buttons, the rising volume from the television masking his tone. “Assume you’ll be packing back to Rome tonight.”

He wasn’t even looking at her. Why wasn’t he looking at her? Annoyed, Buffy marched over to the bed and snatched the controller from his hands, tossing it to the floor and out of his immediate reach. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Well, I was tryin’ to play my game, but since that doesn’t look it’s goin’ to happen…” Spike ran a hand through his hair before standing and pacing along the far side of the bed. “Don’t know what you’re expecting, Buffy. I thought we’d done our talking back at the high school, but then Angel pokes in his gob and says they’re all off and for me not to bugger things up—“

“I find it very hard to believe Angel used the word ‘bugger.’”

He stopped, squaring off with her for the first time since she’d walked in. “Well, if you must know, his phrase of choice wasn’t nearly as well turned as mine, no.”

“Because you’re the superior wordsmith.”

“Bloody right I am. Though to hear him go at it—“ Spike frowned. “You’re mocking me.”

Her lips twitched. “A little, yeah.”

He stared at her in disbelief, his thoughts visibly ticking behind his eyes. She knew he was confused, but hey, so was she. Equal footing here. She didn’t need his walls to make things even harder.

“Did Angel tell you I wanted to talk?” she asked.

“Just said you were comin’ back. Then Blue started off on something about squabbling like children and Angel got his knickers all in a twist and I pretty much stopped listening.” He gestured toward the game console. “Came up here to wait ‘cause watching _Some Mothers Do Have ‘Em_ didn’t really suit my mood right now.”

“Meaning you’d rather beat the crap out of something instead.”

This time, he grinned sheepishly at her slight tease. “Well, yeah. You got the best of the fight back with FrankenFinn. All I got was the grand finale.”

Though he was still too far away, Buffy wasn’t too bothered by it. Nobody had shouted yet, and he was actually looking at her now. Of course, nobody had said anything really important yet, either, but this was definitely a step in the right direction.

“Do you mind if we go back to my room and do this?” Buffy asked. “I’m a little tired. And I don’t have an Xbox in there to distract you.”

Spike took a step toward her at her announcement about her physical state, but stopped short. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and hardened his jaw. “If this is the grand kiss-off,” he said, “just say it and get it over with. I’m done with the bouncing around. Feel like a soddin’ pingpong ball.”

Buffy frowned. “Why do you think that’s what this is about?”

His brows shot up. “Mean other than the fact that you couldn’t be fussed to stick around to see if I woke up before traipsing across the city to check on your bloody boyfriend? Or that you couldn’t stand bein’ in the same room as me back at the Hellmouth, which is why you got snatched in the first place? Or how about because I haven’t even got a simple ‘thanks, Spike’ for goin’ through all this mess to get you back? Pick your poison, pet. Any and all are the same.”

There are was so much masked pain in his voice that it took Buffy’s breath away. She had known things had the chance to get ugly if she did this now – hence, her asking for privacy – but she hadn’t been prepared for how her actions looked from Spike’s perspective. She didn’t agree with him, and frankly, she thought he was deliberately looking for the bad in all of it, but saying so out loud would only mess things up worse than they already were.

So she said what she could.

“Thank you, Spike.” She began backing toward the door. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re safe from all this evil lawyer hullabaloo. That’s why I went over to Paolo’s, you know. Because Illyria told me about Wolfram & Hart’s price. It killed me to think I could lose you again when I only just got you back.” She reached the door and stepped into the hall. “I’m going to go lie down. If you want to talk…you know where to find me.”

Halfway to her room, Buffy almost stopped and looked back to see if he was following her. Only her pride kept her from doing so.

She left the door open, sinking into the mattress and curling up onto her side beneath the duvet. Her body still flamed from the temperature, and her eyes felt like they were going to vibrate out of their sockets, but her brain was too busy tilting every which way to allow her to sleep. Buffy stared at the wall, not seeing the fine print of the paper. Something had broken along her way to fixing things, and as per the usual, she had no idea how to make it better.

“Why are you here and not with him?”

His voice was soft, but its mere presence was enough to make Buffy roll over. In the doorway, Spike leaned against the jamb, watching her with guarded eyes. His hair was mussed from where he’d been running his fingers through it, and though his body seemed relaxed, she could tell by the tight cording in his forearms just how tense he really was.

“Because sticking around after you break up with somebody doesn’t do anyone any good,” she replied, matching his tone.

A flare of something appeared in his eyes, but almost as quickly, Spike tamped it down. “Hope you kicked the wanker to the door for what he did to you. You deserve better than that.”

“Maybe.” Easing up to a sitting position, Buffy hugged her knees. “I have a question,” she said. “And I think I need it answered before we go any further.”

“S’pose you answered mine all right,” came the careful response. “Go ahead.”

“Are you happy in LA?”

He didn’t move. He didn’t even twitch. “I’ve been worse.”

Buffy shook her head. “Are you happy? Do you like your life better with me out of it?”

There was still nothing more than the slide of his eyes as he contemplated his answer. She wished he wouldn’t remain so far away.

“It’s easier,” Spike finally said. “In Sunnydale, I spent a lot of energy tryin’ to suss out how best not to brass you off. Or how best to do it, depending on how bitchy you’d been to me lately. In LA, all I gotta do is look out for myself. Got a flat, got a way to annoy Angel on a daily basis, got some people who don’t make me feel like something they just scraped off their shoe. It’s just…different.”

It was as much as he was going to say. The silence that fell between them was heavy.

“I miss you, you know.” Buffy toyed with the duvet, pleating it between her fingers before letting it go and starting again. “I mean, life’s been good, except for the whole reliving the mistakes of my past part, but…when I saw you – well, not you, the other you – it just drove it all home. I know what you mean by easier. Because it was easier for me to just go on, day by day. Dealing with Dawn. The slaying stuff. And when I’d dream about you, it hurt, yeah, but I figured I could deal with it. I had to. What other choice did I have? Then I saw you again.” She looked up. “You you, not the other you.”

“And? What am I s’posed to do with that, pet?”

With a sigh, Spike came in and sprawled in the chair next to the bed, picking at his nails. At least he wasn’t ready to walk out any more, Buffy thought.

“Would you have stuck around?” he asked. “If you hadn’t been in danger here and we couldn’t find a way to bring you back. Would you have wanted to try and make a life for yourself there?”

She had asked that question herself, so many times over the past twenty-four hours. It seemed weird hearing Spike voice it.

“I thought about it,” she confessed. “If that’s what I had to do, if I didn’t have other choices, then yeah, I would have figured something out.”

“Because of him?”

“Because I wouldn’t have another choice,” Buffy repeated.

“But _him_ ,” Spike pressed. “ _He_ would have been a part of that choice.”

“You want me to say I would prefer a life where you’re alive to one where you’re not? Yeah, Spike. I would. I told you that.”

“I’m alive _here_.”

“And I didn’t know that, did I? And it didn’t take me long after I _did_ find out to figure out that it wouldn’t be the same.”

“But you had to think about it.”

Buffy threw her hands up in frustration and plopped back onto her pillow. “Jesus, Spike! You show up when I thought you were dead, and you expect me to be able to roll with that without blinking an eye? I’m sorry I needed more than five seconds to adjust to a walking, talking Spike instead of a big pile of dust at the bottom of the Sunnydale crater.”

Spike’s mouth tightened as he glared at her, the muscles twitching in his jaw. “He was only tryin’ to get into your pants, you know.”

“And that was different from you in the beginning how?”

He snorted in amusement, though he quickly scowled to cover it up. They lapsed into silence again, each lost in their own thoughts, though this time, Buffy didn’t think it was quite as bad as the last.

“You wanna know what the appeal was?” she asked. She didn’t wait for a response. “Other than the obvious that it was you and you’ve always pushed my buttons. It was seeing how trapped he was. It was seeing him take this really shitty hand he’d been dealt and making a life for himself, a life you would be proud of. He could have run away, or he could have hooked up with Adam, or he could have done almost anything else to survive. He didn’t.”

“You were proud of him.”

“I was. The same way I was proud of what you’d done. What you did that entire last year. How you stuck with us when you didn’t have to.” Pushing back the blankets, Buffy swung her legs over the edge of the bed so that she could face him directly. “I know you don’t believe me, but I meant what I said in the Hellmouth. And I still do.” She swallowed. “I love you, Spike.”

He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and for the first time since seeing him here, in the world of her creation, Buffy got a glimpse of something she had thought was long gone for her. They were the same powerful emotions that had terrified her so much those months after she came back from the dead, love and hope and admiration and lust all rolled up into one Spike-shaped package.

“So what does this mean?” His voice was subdued, his earlier anger gone. “You goin’ back to Rome?”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “Have to. I kind of left Dawn there. With Andrew in charge. I fear for her mental health.” When his eyes ducked again, she reached forward and rested a hand on his knee, fighting to keep it chaste. He felt solid and familiar and hers. “That doesn’t mean I have to stay there. I have to see Dawn through the rest of the school year, but maybe it’s time we think about going home. My Italian really sucks.”

Slowly, his hand slid forward until it covered hers. “Can’t keep you fitted in the same kind of shoes your ex can, you know,” he commented.

“That’s what absentee father guilt is for.” Lacing her fingers through his, Buffy pulled him as she scooted back on the bed, forcing Spike to come up on the mattress with her. Before he could pull away, she pressed her mouth to his in a soft, lingering kiss. “We can sort out the details later,” she said when they parted. “Right now, I just want to be silly and revel in the whole alive thing you’ve got going.”

“Nothin’ wrong with a bit of revelry.”

His eyes burned as they bored into hers. Then his mouth was back, his kiss hard and hungry, his hands tugging her against him. She didn’t resist, couldn’t resist, melting into Spike as she’d wanted for so long, and knew more certainly than she’d known anything in the past twenty-fours that this was right, no matter how hard it was going to be.

“I love you,” she breathed again as he pressed her back into the mattress.

Spike paused for a moment, pulling back to search her face. His mouth softened, almost smiling, as he brushed back a strand of hair from her cheek. “I know.”

That was all she needed to hear.

* * *

Angel stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, staring at the tableau in front of him. The reactions at finding them like this ran rampant through his veins, hot and angry and hurt, but his features remained stoic. He didn’t even move when Wesley came up behind him.

“Giles has asked whether or not we’ll be spending the night,” he murmured. “What do you want me to tell him?”

Angel hadn’t considered it. As soon as they’d returned to the house, he’d taken the stairs two at a time to find out what the hell had happened. He still hadn’t been able to tear himself away from the sight of Buffy and Spike asleep and spooning, Spike’s arm curled protectively around Buffy’s waist. At least it looked like they were still dressed.

“I suppose we should get back to LA,” he said quietly. “Hamilton is going to be waiting, and I’d prefer not dragging Giles any further into this mess than I already have.”

“What about Spike?”

“What about him?”

“Should I make…accommodation for him?”

Angel sighed. “I think Spike’s working on figuring out his own accommodations.” Reaching forward, he grasped the knob, pulling the door shut slowly, never taking his eyes from the sleeping couple. “Tell Giles we’ll be getting out of his hair. He’d probably rather talk with you than me anyway.”

For some reason, it was impossible to let go of the knob, though he knew he had to leave. He heard every beat of Buffy’s heart, how slow and even it was, how deeply she was sleeping, and every once in awhile, he’d catch a soft sigh. Those hurt the most. Because they weren’t all Buffy’s.

“Are you all right?” Wes asked.

“Not really.”

“You don’t want to stay so you can talk to Buffy? I’m sure her story is going to be fascinating.”

He did. He wanted to do more than talk. And her story would be a good one. But…

“She’s made her choice.” He released the knob and turned around. Wes stepped out of his way as he headed for the stairs, but at the top, Angel stopped. “On second thought, let’s stick around until tomorrow. Just in case.”

“Of course,” Wes murmured.

Angel resumed his path. He heard Buffy’s breathing all the way down the stairs.

* * *

He stood still in the doorway, Tara bustling around to clear the debris from the bed. The room was a disaster, but it wasn’t that that made Spike hesitate. It was the scent of blood in the air, sharper than he remembered it being before, more alive. Not his, not Finn’s, and not Adam’s.

It was the Slayer’s.

Tara prattled on about the immediate high after the spell, how she still couldn’t believe that Adam was dead, about what they would do tomorrow to rally the others hiding away. It was important, Spike knew, but somehow, he couldn’t concentrate on her words, too distracted with his own thoughts to focus on hers.

She yawned, then giggled in embarrassment. “I guess Giles and Joyce aren’t the only ones wiped out from the spell,” she said. Her eyes were tired as she turned to Spike, her smile inviting. There was no resisting smiling in kind. “How about we call it a night? We can do the clean-up in the morning.”

Without a word, Spike sauntered toward her, grasping her upper arms and pulling her to him. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he held Tara there for a long moment, absorbing her softness, taking comfort in her heat. “You rest,” he said when he finally let her go. “I need a smoke. I won’t be gone long.”

He felt her gaze on him as he gathered his cigarettes and lighter, but she didn’t speak until he reached the doorway again. “It’s OK to wish she was here to celebrate with us, you know.”

His step faltered, his fingers tightening around his lighter. “I won’t be long,” Spike repeated, and left before Tara could say another word.

He found himself in the blown-out cafeteria, leaning against the wall and staring up into the night sky. There were still faint traces of her scent up here, and he knew that if he went into the cooler, he’d probably be hard within seconds. But it was more tolerable, at least, less disturbing. And the night air gave his jumbled thoughts clarity.

Smoke curled around his head as he exhaled. There was chaos in the town tonight, Adam’s boys lost without their leader. It would take time to bring order back to everything, and the fight wouldn’t be easy. But it was possible, which was all that mattered.

If he stuck around for it. With the chip gone, Spike had his options back. He didn’t need to rely on the others for his livelihood any more. No more begging for table scraps. No more chains caging him like a rabid dog.

Only the bonds of family.

Dropping the cigarette, he ground out the red tip under the heel of his boot. Choosing to stay would be hard. There weren’t good chances of success. He might get dusted before seeing anything come to fruition.

_There was a time when you would’ve been the first to pick up a sword and fight with me._

Spike smiled, her voice still filling his head. He might get dusted, but it would be one hell of a scrap.

As he turned to go back to his room, he caught sight of the freezer door and hesitated. “Here’s to fresh starts, Buffy,” he murmured before descending the stairs.

He didn’t look back.

THE END


End file.
